


Yet the Darkness Will Deceive

by Hallucina



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Hallucinations, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 94,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallucina/pseuds/Hallucina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers don't shy away from trouble. In fact, their entire job revolves around it. But when their own team starts to fracture, it's evident that trouble has come to them. As the darkness takes over and a madman starts bombing places a little too close to home, Tony realizes they may be dealing with a power beyond their knowledge - not to mention the familiar mischief god that has reappeared in their lives.</p><p>A story about tricks, treachery, a mad mischief god, and the mechanic who needs him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place approximately one year after the events of the Avengers. However, Stark Tower remains a business center, and the Avengers have their own HQ in New York.
> 
> Guys, this has been an amazing journey! This is by far the longest project I've worked on, and it could of never happened without support from a few precious people. My best friend, Kate, thank you for being the sounding board for all of my insane ideas. Kiera and Chloe, thank you for supporting me the whole way through, even though I hid this as my dirty secret from you guys for a while. And finally, thank you a million times over to my beta, the incredible Ruby Casablanca! I can't begin to express how thankful I am for her sharp eyes - she contributed immensely to making this the best story it could be. 
> 
> And, of course, all you readers - thank you so much for your support and lovely comments!

New York. Where it starts and where it ends.

When Tony fell to earth, when he made the split-second decision to fly the nuke into space, he knew he wasn't going to come back. A one-way trip, Steve said. He was a dead man the second he passed through the portal.

People fear heights because they don't want to fall. Don't want to crash and burn.

Tony never feared them. Maybe because he's reckless, maybe because he never stopped to think about it. Maybe he liked the risk. Or maybe he'd trade the terror in for a chance to fly.

But when Tony fell from the portal, when he spun and plummeted towards the earth, the only emotion he felt was fear.

 

***

 

_"Sir."_

"Shubft ufp," Tony groans, his voice muffled by the pillow under his face.

_"Mr. Stark, I'm afraid I must insist. Mr. Odinson is looking for you."_

Tony rolls over and blinks the crust out of his eyes. He briefly considers going back to sleep, but since it's Thor calling, he knows that he'd end up very much awake anyways, and through not-so-pleasant means. So that means getting out of bed. Fuck.

_"Sir—"_

"I'm going, Jesus," Tony grumbles, swinging out of bed. The air is cold on his exposed shoulders. "Jarvis, turn it up a couple degrees in here, I'm freezing my ass off."

He scoops some clean-ish smelling clothes off the floor, the air warming against his skin as Jarvis complies with his request, and tugs them on. The floor has chosen some sweats and a t-shirt with a mysterious splotch for him, but he doesn't want to deal with his monster of a closet this morning. There are probably only dusty suits in there anyway. Yawning, he heads into the bathroom to take a piss.

After he's relieved himself, he glances despondently at the noticeable bags under his eyes and runs a hand through his unruly hair before mentally declaring it a lost cause.

There's a muffled "TONY" from down the hall, and really, he should get going.

_"Sir, it would be in your best interests to—"_

"Don't be a nag, Jarv," Tony cuts him off, scowling. He goes anyway, though, which should show how awesome Jarvis is.

_"I wouldn't dare, sir, not with you around,"_ Jarvis replies, and he takes back what he said about Jarvis being awesome. Snarky bastard. _"Mr. Odinson is waiting for you in the common room."_

He takes the stairs down to the common floor to get to the kitchen because the elevator is set for "emergencies only" by the good captain. (It'd taken them a while to get over their initial expectations of each other, but they're working on it. Tony calls him Steve.) When he steps into the kitchen, Thor is waiting for him in full uniform, looking uncharacteristically tentative.

"Tony," he begins, "I fear—"

Tony holds up a hand. "Hold it, big man. Coffee first."

When he reaches the coffee maker, it's powered up and in the process of brewing a fresh cup. He waits impatiently while Thor stands confusedly behind him. The coffee maker spits out his beverage and he pounces on it, inhaling half of it and groaning.

"Jarvis, I could kiss you right now," he says, and takes another gulp of heaven.

_"Duly noted, sir,"_ Jarvis says amusedly. _"Though as I lack a corporeal body—"_

"Stop killing my caffeine buzz."

_"Sir, caffeine—"_

_"Jarvis."_

Jarvis falls silent, though there's a feeling of amusement filling the air.

Tony turns back to Thor. "Alright, what's going on?"

Their resident thunder god still looks a bit uncertain at the turn of events, but he shakes his head furiously, like a dog, and reorganizes his thoughts.

"I have been called back to Asgard," he says lowly, and yeah, something's going on here.

Tony peers over the rim of his coffee cup, seemingly unconcerned. "So?" he asks. "It's not the first time."

"Something is different," Thor insists. "My summoning was… muddled. I fear something dark is coming."

Tony narrows his eyes. "But you don't know what it is." He's trying to do that thing Natasha does where she makes you tell her what she wants to know without of asking. SHIELD handbook 101, page 332, how to get information from enemies. Well. Probably.

Thor shoots him a look that conveys he knows exactly what Tony is doing. It's too early to be subtle; Thor can't judge him. "No," he admits.

"You have to go," Tony says. It's not a question, but Thor replies to it anyway.

"Yes."

Tony takes a sip of coffee and then exhales, watching the steam dissipate. "Did you tell the others?"

"I have alerted Steve and Natasha," Thor says, "But I have been unable to reach Bruce and Clint."

"What? They're supposed to have their comms on at all times in case of emergencies," Tony mutters, running over possible situations in his head. Bruce had gone to a gamma radiation conference in England or something and Fury had ordered a SHIELD minion to go with him. Bruce had started looking dangerously green at that, though, and so Clint went with him instead.

Tony snaps back to the situation at hand when Thor clears his throat.

"Right," he says. "Jarvis, can you try to reach our resident rage monster and his avian partner?"

_"Calling now, sir."_

"…Where are Steve and Natasha?"

_"They have arrived at the Helicarrier to alert Director Fury and discuss a few publicity matters with him,"_ Jarvis said smoothly.

Tony wrinkles his nose in disgust. "He sticks his nose into everything, doesn't he? Looming over us like a giant ugly vulture."

"I will be leaving tomorrow," Thor rumbles, bringing Tony's attention back to him. His face is still set in worried lines.

"Alright, Blondie, alright," Tony sighs through his nose and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "It's too early in the morning to deal with this… stuff." He waves a hand vaguely to get his point across. "I'll be down in the workshop if you need me."

Thor nods, his grip tightening slightly on his hammer. "I must visit Jane before I depart. She will want to know ahead of time."

His voice softens slightly when he says Jane's name. Oh god. He's a giant puppy. With muscles. Probably a golden retriever or something, like—

Tony shakes his head. "Right, so she can map the energy release. Okay," he starts heading towards the stairs down to the workshop, coffee cup in hand. "Call if you need any heavily armored flying backup!"

"I will," Thor says gravely, and starts to swing Mjolnir, static electricity pressing down on the room.

"No!" Tony yells, turning around from the top of the stairs.

Thor looks confused. "I do not—"

"No," Tony says again firmly. "You are not busting another one of my windows. Use the door."

 

***

 

"Look alive, everyone, Daddy's here."

Tony snaps his fingers and the workshop comes alive with power. Dummy, You and Butterfingers all give chirps of welcome and the designs of the repulsor stabilizers he was working on last night glow blue and expand.

He sprawls in his chair and sets down his cooling mug of coffee.

"Jarvis, how are we on reaching Clint and Bruce?"

_"I cannot seem to connect to their communicators. I have, however, pinpointed their location. The files will be brought up for you."_

A blue holoscreen pops up in front of him, a blinking red dot located in London, England.

Tony frowns. "I thought they weren't going to London," he says. "Didn't Bruce think it was too high of a risk for him? Pepper even moved the conference for him."

_"You are correct, sir. The conference was not supposed to be held in London. You and Ms. Potts used your considerable influence to change the conference's time and location."_

Tony remembers that. Bruce had acted like they'd given him the moon, though he was still nervous about going to a more highly populated area. Whatever. Bruce deserved a vacation.

"So Bruce and Clint are in London for no discernible reason whatsoever. Wonderful. Jarvis, can you pull up any CCTV footage of their location?"

_"Pulling up live footage now, sir."_

Tony stares.

"Shit," he mutters, because honestly, what the hell is that? It looks like a clear, shapeless mass (did he mention it's floating?) with whirling black smoke trapped inside it. Every so often, the black smoke will tear a gaping hole through the clear stuff and launch itself in what looks like a storm of dark knives at Clint and the Hulk, who are fighting with varying degrees of success on the ground below.

"Jarvis, status report," he barks.

_"The creature is not within our databases. Species: Unknown. Material: Unknown. Origin: Unknown. Time of arrival: Approximately 16.8 hours ago. Agent Barton—"_

"What?!" Tony yelps. "They've been fighting that thing for 16 hours?"

_"It appears that they only encountered the creature 2.7 hours ago. However, there was a significant energy surge approximately 16.8 hours ago in the general vicinity and vague sightings of it since then,"_ Jarvis says, pulling up rough scans of the weirdo blob thing.

_"Agent Barton has done no damage to the creature so far. In fact, shooting holes in the creature has only released more of the substance contained inside it. The Hulk has done no lasting damage, although he has managed to dent the creature multiple times."_

Tony huffs in exasperation. Thor is gone, Clint and the Hulk have already been fighting for roughly three hours, and he has no idea what Steve and Natasha are doing. Dummy butts against his leg, chirping in sympathy.

"Jarvis, how fast can I get to London?"

_"At maximum speed, approximately 3.2 hours. However, you might want to save some of the suit's energy for the battle currently ongoing in London."_

Tony grunts in dissatisfied acknowledgment, busy charting the flight plan on the StarkPad in his hand. Grudgingly, he looks up. "Okay, Jarvis, get me there at 90% of maximum flight speed."

_"Of course, sir. The suit is ready for you now."_

Tony changes quickly into the under armor that he uses with the suit. He developed it not long after the fiasco in New York, figuring that if it offered extra protection it was worth it. He can still wear civilian clothes in the suit, of course, but they don't do much to stop an injury. The flexible, reinforced fibers of the under armor do—he knows from experience—and can help regulate his body temperature if he ever gets caught outside of the suit.

Once the sleek black under armor has been successfully wriggled into, he steps onto the black pad in the center of the workshop, holding his arms straight out for the suit to clamp around. The pad underneath him splits around his feet and the boots and leg pieces shoot up to his thighs. The helmet goes on last, because he has a flare for dramatics. It's a well-known fact, just ask the tabloids.

Once the helmet clamps on, the inside lights up with holographic chartings. All stats look good, and Jarvis would have told him if there was anything off. Tony checks anyway though, because he's not afraid to admit that he is slightly paranoid, and while he trusts Jarvis with his life, double-checking is something that's too often underestimated considering the amount of lives it could save.

Tony finishes his double-checking ritual and a large pane of glass that serves as a door splits in half smoothly to vanish into the wall.

"Thanks, Jarv," Tony says, and fires up his repulsors. The arc reactor hums in his chest, and the last pieces of the suit click into place for flight.

Blue fire erupts from his hands and feet, and he bursts into the crisp autumn morning.

He makes his way out of New York with no trouble, soaring above the clouds, his belly parallel with the Atlantic Ocean. A blinking dot alerts him of a commercial jet approaching and he adjusts his flight path.

He's cruising at a steady pace, the wind only providing mild resistance against him. He doesn't have anything to do for a couple hours while he makes his way to London, so he alternates between trying to distract himself and anxiously checking up on Clint and Bruce.

He's reading up on the current news when he remembers the two Avengers probably still calming Fury. (The Director is a control freak. Like, an enormous control freak. Not as bad as the Council, though, and that's a whole other can of worms he really doesn't want to open.)

"Jarvis, can you try to reach Steve and Natasha?"

_"Connecting the call now, sir."_ Faithful Jarvis.

_"Tony!"_ Steve yells.

"Calm down, Cap, no need to shout," Tony says, wincing.

_"No, Tony, this is serious."_ Steve insists, and he's panting.

_"Get down!"_ Natasha barks, her voice muffled. There's the sound of an explosion and something cracking before screams start up in the distance.

"Hey—hey! Steve! What's going on?" Tony yells. He pulls up short on his flight path, hovering over the ocean. He adds in an undertone, "Jarvis, I need their location, now."

_"Look, Tony, there's something going on here,"_ Steve says, and something crashes in the background. _"It's like—it's not real. It keeps on—"_

Static crackles and Steve's voice fuzzes out. Why is there static? He designed these comms specifically for the Avengers; they're the best out there. Jarvis silently pulls up Steve and Natasha's location—New York. Back at HQ. What is going on?

"Steve? What's not real? Hey—" Tony says urgently.

_"Tony, can you just get here? There's—we can't—"_

Someone screams and a distant siren blares. The communicator cuts out to dead silence.

"Jarvis?" Tony yells. There are red lights blinking in warning on the screen, because they never lose a call, not after fucking space in New York. "Get him back on! What the hell is happening?"

_"Trying, sir. It appears that the communicator is either damaged or something is blocking the signal."_

"Fuck," Tony mutters, and now he's stuck in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with shit on both sides. He doesn't know where to go and there's not enough data and what the hell is he supposed to do?

_"Sir—breathe, sir,"_ Jarvis says, and Tony realizes he's close to a full-blown panic attack. He pushes down the stress that's crawling into his throat and breathes.

Time to weigh the options. Tony can do this, can calculate odds and ratios and pretend there are no lives on the line. Compartmentalizing. He tries to pull up security camera footage of London and New York, but each time his system fails. There's something wrong with all of this.

The static starts up again, but his call screen is dark.

"Hey—Jarvis?"

A deep crackling voice starts up in his ear. It sounds like a thousand different noises combined into one: fire and electricity and breaking bones. It hisses, a wordless snarl that just barely sounds like words.

"What do you want from me?" Tony snarls, willing his voice to stay steady.

There's a moment of pause, as if in surprise, before the static increases.

_"I'm not here for you,"_ it purrs, a whisper of crackling electricity. _"But you do seem… interesting."_

"Interesting? That's all I get?" he snarks. Never let it be said that Tony Stark doesn't irritate his enemies before they attempt to kill him. "You could at least—"

_"Time's up,"_ the voice interrupts silkily. With a low hissing sound, his holoscreens start shutting down one by one. Power levels, weapons scans, tracking devices. His HUD goes black last, and now he's flying blind.

The Iron Man suit, no longer hovering effortlessly, is a titanium-alloy cage around him as he drops towards the ocean like a stone.

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Tony wakes, it's to a horrible white light that's every heavenly stereotype wrapped into one. Until he realizes it's a hospital light, and that he's lying down with an IV stuck in his hand. His head feels strange, like his brain has been stuffed with cotton, and when he lifts his arm he feels a thick white bandage covering his left temple. Beneath him are starched sheets and he's in one of those humiliating hospital gowns that open along the whole back.

He blinks blearily and his vision slowly swims into focus. Tony is in a small room, painted white and smelling of bleach. Really, who authorizes this? Not all hospitals have to be fucking white and bleach-y. Paint it red or something. Yeah, red is a good color. Like his suit, and Pep's hair, and apples—and wow, that was really off topic.

Tony stops internally monologuing when he realizes that he is, in fact, internally monologuing. Crap. Whatever painkillers he's on are really effective. He's suddenly aware of the low murmur of voices, overlaid by an irritating beeping noise, that rise in pitch once they realize he's awake.

A slightly blurry man leans into his field of vision.

"Mr. Stark?" he asks. "How are you feeling?"

"Who the fuck're you?" Tony says, slurring slightly. God, he hates painkillers.

"I'm Doctor Harrison," the man says. Tony's vision has sharpened to include the middle-aged doctor with tired eyes standing over his bed.

With a start, Tony remembers the arc reactor, and shit shit shit where is he? He fumbles under his gown and slaps a hand on the hard glass casing to reassure himself. Dr. Harrison just raises an eyebrow.

"Relax, Mr. Stark, you're safe. I'm a SHIELD doc."

"Is that supposed to make me trust you?"

Dr. Harrison huffs out a laugh. "I wasn't expecting it to. We haven't done any scans of your nightlight, I promise. Your teammate can verify that for you." He nods towards the door.

Tony narrows his eyes. "What—" he starts, but before he can finish, Steve comes barreling into the room. He's wearing civilian clothes, which shouldn't be a surprise, but there aren't any injuries on him that Tony can see—which he would expect given the fact that there were explosions and screaming the last time Tony talked to him.

"Tony! The doctors said you were awake," Steve says, giving a brief nod to Dr. Harrison.

"Yeah, hallelujah. What happened?" Tony asks warily, and doesn't miss the way Steve hesitates before answering.

"Tony… you fell from almost 30,000 feet into the Atlantic Ocean. You're lucky there was a cargo ship that saw you crash—actually, you're lucky that the suit gained a bit of power to slow your fall so you didn't hit the water at full speed." Steve looks worried, a furrow forming between his brows. "You really don't remember?"

The voice, his systems crashing. He fell.

"Yeah." His voice is hoarse. Tony clears his throat and tries again. "Yeah, I remember. I was going… going to help Clint and Bruce."

Steve looks even more worried, if possible. "Tony, Clint and Bruce were at the conference in London. They came back today—why were you going over there?"

"They were in trouble!" Tony snaps. He feels jittery, anxious, and the way Steve is looking at him is making his stomach flip uneasily. "They were fighting this—this thing, for something like 16 hours; I saw it on CCTV footage. I was going over to help them and I tried to call you, and then you—there were explosions, and you said something was wrong back at HQ. And then _something_ weird happened, and I fell." He doesn't want to mention the voice.

Steve looks alarmed now, and Dr. Harrison gets up from where he had been quietly sitting by Tony's bed to mutter something in Steve's ear before leaving. Probably that Tony's is completely and utterly off his rocker. Steve takes Harrison's place in the ugly plastic chair next to the bed, sitting down heavily.

"Look, Tony, I don't know what's going on, but…" There's a sinking feeling Tony's stomach even before Steve says the next few words. "You never called me yesterday. Nothing happened in New York and nothing happened in London, either. As far as everyone else is concerned, you flew out into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and shut down your suit."

"I didn't _shut my suit down_ , something happened to my systems," Tony retorts angrily. "What, do you think I'm suicidal?"

Steve winces and Tony remembers dumbly that flying a nuke into an alien portal isn't exactly sane behavior. He glares at Steve because crashing an airplane full of bombs into ice isn't healthy either.

Under Tony's glower, Steve hastens to say, "No! No, I believe you."

"Do you really?" Tony asks flatly.

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, Tony. Are you saying someone gave you fake video footage of Clint and Bruce fighting… _something,_ and then called you speaking _in my voice?"_

"Well, when you put it that way…" Tony mutters. He can't be going insane, he _remembers._ "Hey," he snaps, because now he doesn't know what they think is real. "Did—did you and Natasha go to the Helicarrier this morning?"

Steve furrows his brows in suspicion, but nods. "We went to inform Director Fury that Thor was summoned to Asgard. He was supposed to tell you this morning, did…?"

Tony shakes his head hastily. "No, no, he told me. Just—shit!" Tony sits bolt upright in bed, wide-eyed, before groaning as his head throbs and the room spins slightly.

"Tony?" Steve asks frantically. "What is it?"

"Where's my suit? Did you leave it in the ocean? Because if you did, I swear—"

Steve rolls his eyes, slumping back down into the chair. "Calm down, it's back at HQ. It's pretty wrecked, but—"

"No, you don't understand," Tony says impatiently, "The suit, the suit, I can get some footage, some recordings of what happened!"

Steve sits forward, looking interested. "Go on," he says.

"I won't explain the details to your nonagenarian ass, but Jarvis has automatic recording of all the stuff I access—including security footage. Also, there should be at least a log of if I phoned you yesterday, so you need to get me to the workshop _right now."_

"Tony, I don't think that's such a good idea—"

"Do I have to do everything by myself?" Tony mutters, gazing skyward in exasperation. He climbs out of the stupid hospital bed, leaning heavily on the edge. Steve is looking increasingly more distressed, holding his hands out in front of him like he doesn't know what to do with them.

"Hey—you're injured; really, I think you should just stay here."

Tony just glares at him. "You want answers, I'm pretty sure Fury wants answers, and I want to know that I'm not fucking insane. Now get me some goddamned clothes."

Steve holds his hands up in surrender and heads toward the door, shooting worried glances over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute," he says.

Tony grits his teeth and sits gingerly in the now-vacated chair. God, he forgot how uncomfortable they were. Seriously, this was the worst hospital cliché—

There's a man in the dark corner of the room.

Tony blinks and shakes his head. When he looks back at the corner, there's no sign of the dark silhouette. And the corner is brightly lit now, just like the rest of the room. It's like the man-thing _emitted_ the darkness—

Maybe he is going insane.

Steve returns then with his clothes, and stops short at the rattled look in Tony's face.

"Tony?" he asks cautiously. "Everything all right?"

Tony shuts his eyes and opens them with a smile pasted on his face. "Yeah, Cap, I'm fine. Is there a bathroom in this hellhole?"

Steve makes that weird crumply face that he does when he's worried, but points him towards the door. "It's right down the hall. Maybe I should—"

"Hey," Tony says, giving Steve a small, genuine smile. "I'm fine. Really."

Steve deflates, running a hand through his hair, mussing up the side-part. He hands Tony the clothes and steps aside so he can get to the door.

The hallway ends up being grey and black, _thank god; he hates white,_ and now that he's out of that room he can feel a low humming vibration under his unsteady feet. He's on the Helicarrier. He can see the door of the bathroom Steve pointed out, and Jesus, even the men's sign is chrome. Tony pushes the door open and inside it looks like the SHIELD version of a public bathroom (albeit, better cleaned). He's probably in the infirmary wing.

Tony gets changed in one of the stalls. SHEILD people are posh, though, so a "stall" consists of a toilet with a sink and mirror. He splashes some water on his face to clear his head and takes stock of his injuries. When he breathes in, there's a sharp pain in his chest—though it's not wrapped—so most likely cracked or badly bruised ribs. A large patch of gauze is slapped on his thigh and reveals black stitching when he peels the corner off, and his whole right forearm is wrapped up along with a sprained wrist. Three of his fingers are bound together, with ugly purple bruises splattered across his shoulders. Judging by the bruising and injuries, he probably landed on his right side. Overall, though, he looks remarkably well for someone who just fell from airplane height.

Tony pulls his shirt on and the injuries are covered up. Steve must have brought clothes from HQ, because he doubts SHIELD supplied injured people with ACDC shirts and jeans. Also boxers. SHIELD agents probably all wear—nope, he's not going to think about that.

He limps back down the grey hallway to Steve, who's waiting anxiously outside of his now-empty hospital room.

"Hey," Tony says, slightly out of breath. Shit. He shouldn't be this winded from walking down the hallway. "I forgot to ask—where's the rest of our merry band?"

"They were all with you earlier, but now Clint and Natasha are dealing with Director Fury," he answers. "Now that he knows you saw or heard some things that aren't true—hey," Steve protests, seeing Tony's accusing look. "I believe you, remember? But that doesn't mean he does."

Tony just grunts. Fury can go fuck himself.

"—and I think that Bruce is helping Ms. Potts and Coulson with the media." Steve had never called Pepper anything other than "Ms. Potts." She thought it was adorable, naturally. Also, yes, Coulson was alive. No, Tony did not expect it. Yes, he fucked up all of Fury's systems as retaliation for keeping it from them.

The content of Steve's sentence hits him suddenly. "Whoa, wait, media?"

Steve looks uncomfortable again, staring past Tony's shoulders. "Tony, a lot of people think it was a suicide attempt. They don't know anything else."

Tony rolls his eyes and huffs. "Shit," he murmurs.

"I called a jet for us," Steve says in a transparent ploy to change the subject. "We should get to HQ in a few hours."

"Yeah, okay."


	3. Chapter 3

Hawkeye and Black Widow join them in the airplane hangar, Clint flicking his eyes over him quickly and Natasha sneaking a single glance. It's their way of checking up on him.

Steve falls back to talk with Natasha. "How'd Fury take it?" He asks lowly.

Maybe they think he's deaf and can't hear anything they're saying. Clint is very obviously eavesdropping as well, hovering a step behind Tony as if to make sure he won't fall. He's touched by Clint’s concern, really, but Tony is a big boy and can take care of himself.

Of course, because the universe hates Tony Stark, after he has that thought his injured leg buckles beneath him and he falls on his face.

Clint, because he's an ass about things like this, snickers loudly before offering him a hand up. Tony just glares at him and climbs to his feet, ignoring Clint's stupidly unhelpful hand. Steve has his crumply worried face on again, and Natasha looks supremely unconcerned. Dickheads.

They somehow make their way to the quinjet Steve called—and wow, Tony forgot how much he hates SHIELD equipment. They're like Abercrombie or something, branding their logo over everything.

The jet is empty, because everyone on the Helicarrier knows that while they may work together, the Avengers don't trust SHIELD—not after the World Security Council sent the nuke to Manhattan. So when they take jets, Clint, Steve, or Natasha flies. Though Steve is not a first choice, considering he did go kamikaze with the first plane he got.

This time, Clint's available and he likes flying the most out of all of them anyway, so he runs ahead of Tony and practically leaps into the pilot's seat. Natasha rolls her eyes as she moves to go sit in the co-pilot's seat and mutters something that sounds a lot like "idiot" under her breath. Steve and Tony sit uncomfortably in the cargo-like passenger hold of the quinjet as Clint gets the plane ready for flight and puts a black headset over his ears. They take off into blue skies; Tony fiddling with the StarkPhone Steve had thoughtfully put in his jeans pocket. He checks up on recent news, and wrinkles his nose when he finds articles with headings like, "Iron Man: Exclusive look at his major problems and how fucking insane he is—look, he jumped from 30,000 feet and sees things that aren't real!"

Okay, maybe that's not quite what they said. But that's the gist.

Steve leaves him alone, quietly talking to someone—most likely Coulson—on the phone. The jet is quiet, with occasional murmurs from Clint and Natasha in the cockpit. Tony tunes them all out and wonders how Pepper and Bruce are coping with these wonderful headlines on his mental health. The jet is coasting through dark grey clouds, humming slightly—

No. This is wrong. They took off into _blue skies._

Tony furrows his brows, opens his mouth, and all of the warning systems in the quinjet go off, shrieking and blinking. There's a flurry of noise and movement from his teammates, and someone is shouting, and the back of the quinjet is blown away in an explosion that smells of electricity.

For the second time in the past couple days, Tony falls, sucked out in a vacuum of wind.

This time he's caught, however, with a grunt of pain on his lips and a thunder in his ear.

"I am sorry, Tony Stark," Thor murmurs in his ear, and how could he not see it? Grey clouds, _storm clouds,_ and he can't believe he was so blind—but then again, he can't believe that it's Thor, either.

He's set down on the top of a fucking mountain or something, and Thor shoots back up into the sky like, hah, a lightning bolt. The quinjet stays precariously aloft, tipping to one side—looks like Thor took out one of the covered propellers. Fiery debris rains down, little sparks stinging Tony's exposed arms. Wind whips through the air in sharp slashes, ruffling his hair and pulling his clothes.

He braces his legs, grinding his heels into the dirt, and pulls up video feeds on the Helicarrier. Because Tony has a hunch and his hunches are usually right.

This is one of those times, and the Helicarrier is burning.

One of the propellers is down, but it looks like they've managed to land it in water, unlike that time pre-New York. Jets and planes of all sizes are taking off into the air like swarms of black flies, firing at—

Thor. Thor and _Loki._

He can see Thor's red mantle whipping in the storm as he brings lightning down from the sky. Loki— _god, Loki_ —is wearing his whole leather-and-metal costume, minus the goat horns, wielding a carved metal staff that splits at the end into three wickedly pointed prongs. A tempest of thunder and rain and magic whirls around the two of them, throwing off any SHIELD jet that gets close. Thor and Loki move seamlessly together, fighting in a way that speaks with years of experience.

Part of the Helicarrier is flooding, the damaged propeller sucking water into a hole in the side of the ship. Tony doesn't know what the fuck Thor is doing, working with their enemy that they locked away and destroying SHIELD.

His view suddenly tilts to the side as Loki smirks smugly seemingly _through_ the camera, his eyes dark and boring into Tony's. A blast of green sparks hits and his screen shuts off. Because he hacked into the jet cameras, Tony realizes; he was seeing through a pilot's eyes, and Jesus, they're going to kill everyone.

The quinjet, now mostly stabilized, flies down and hovers a few feet off whatever mountaintop he's on. The back is still smoldering a bit, wisps of smoke drifting into the air before being snatched away by the wind. A rope unrolls from the bottom with large knots tied at regular intervals. He grips the phone between his teeth and grabs ahold of the rope, feet planted on the bottommost knot. Steve and Clint are yelling, and he can see Natasha gritting her teeth tight with concentration.

The rope he's standing on is hauled up until he's level with Crumply Steve in his civilian clothes. Clint, behind him, is flipping switches and adjusting the energy distribution on the plane. Natasha and he are in their SHIELD uniforms, Clint with his bow and quiver strapped to his back and Natasha with both her guns and taser cuffs, but Steve and Tony are stuck without their usual weapons.

"What the hell is going on?" Clint yells from the cockpit, now helping Natasha keep the quinjet steady.

"Thor is what's going on," Natasha says grimly. "He isn't exactly hard to recognize."

Tony lets go of the rope with cold hands, red stripes from the weave imprinted in his skin. He unclenches his jaw and drops the phone into said hands, frantically trying to get footage of the Helicarrier back on it. The screen stays stubbornly dark. Steve and Tony buckle themselves into SHIELD's poor excuses for seats so they don't get sucked out like the last disastrous time, wind and rain still pouring through the gaping hole in the back of the jet.

Tony resigns himself that his phone is dead, through lightning or some kind of magic, who the fuck knows. He shoves it in his pocket—it's useless, now.

"It's Thor and _Loki,"_ he says. His voice tastes like mint and hot iron.

The plane falls abruptly silent, because they aren't, as a team, very prone to outbursts. They all have their snapping points, sure, but the only one who will yell or express their opinion on a regular basis is Thor. It brings his absence— _betrayal_ —back sharply.

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. He's been quiet this whole time, and his face now is carefully blank.

"Yeah, pretty damn sure," Tony sighs, slumping in his seat. "They're attacking the Helicarrier." His brain is still frozen, stuck on the fact that _Thor_ —

But they've got bigger problems. Like the fact that Steve and Tony have no weapons, or that their jet might not even make it back to the Helicarrier, or that Clint is sitting in the front seat looking like he's carved out of stone.

"We have to go back," Tony mutters. "We have to figure this out." Because he _saw_ Clint and Bruce fighting that thing, and he heard Steve's voice. Thor going batshit insane and attacking SHIELD is too much of a coincidence.

Steve looks at him for a long moment, and he looks tired.

"Go," Steve says, turning back to Natasha. "Go."

She nods, her eyes like daggers, and turns the jet around as smoothly as she can. Clint is rigid next to her, glaring ahead. But he's the one who enters in the necessary commands for them to shoot back the way they came.

The closer they get, the worse the storm is. The quinjet wobbles unsteadily and the wind is ripping anything that isn't nailed down out of the back. Every single movie Tony's watched has demonstrated the rule that flight-is-not-safe-with-a-hole-in-the-side-of-the-plane, but hey, the Avengers are just a ragtag bunch of rule-breakers anyway.

They make it back to the Helicarrier, still somehow in one piece. SHIELD's floating base looks like a warzone. Half of it is smoldering or blackened and the other half is fucking insane—and is that a giant squid taking down jets on the north side?

Before Tony can examine the squid-like creature any further, the SHIELD jets shoot it down, flying in an arrowhead formation. It makes a low keening sound that vibrates through his bones and crashes slowly back into the sea.

"I can't see Thor or Loki," Natasha says, making a slow arc with their quinjet above the Helicarrier.

Tony doubts that they're gone, though, judging by the fact that he can spot SHIELD agents running out of a maintenance staircase being swarmed by what looks like furry, bright orange wasps the size of basketballs.

Steve seems to have reached the same conclusion. "They're still inside," he says, voice snapping into captain-mode. He still looks intimidating, even in plain trousers and a t-shirt. Tony remembers Howard saying when he was a kid that Steve Rogers was a captain before he touched the serum, and he winces slightly.

Natasha and Clint somehow maneuver the jet down to a part of the Helicarrier that's miraculously not smoldering or covered in squid guts, warning them that they probably wouldn't be able to get the jet back. The SHIELD duo had all but murdered Tony when he suggested going down without them, though, so he guesses they'll just have to make do.

They hurry down a staircase, taking the steps three or four at a time. Once they get down to the main floor, Tony dashes into the first door he sees. Luckily, it's an office, and even better, there's a computer, which is what he was looking for in the first place.

He practically rips open the laptop and starts cracking the login password, pausing for a second to look up when he realizes the rest of his team is standing in the doorway in various states of bemusement.

"Go, go, go," he says urgently. "Find Thor and Loki and _distract them,_ Jesus. And I never thought I'd say this, but don't let them kill Fury."

"And what are you going to do?" Clint asks, his blue-grey eyes like chips of flint.

Tony waves a hand vaguely, already back to the laptop screen, and boo-yah, he's in. Now to hack SHIELD's terrible security. "I'll find you if it works."

"And if it doesn't?" Natasha this time. Her gloved hands are resting carefully next to her thigh holsters, and he knows she could whip it out in a moment's notice.

"Then we're completely fucking screwed," he says cheerfully. "Unless one of you has secret demigod-stopping-powers that you've been holding out on me."

None of them look enthusiastic or even remotely non-murderous at that, but Steve loads the SHIELD rifle he got on the way there with a loud click and hefts it.

"If we die, I'll kill your sorry ass," Clint tells him.

They leave, the door hanging open behind them. Tony goes back to the stupid SHIELD-issued laptop and hopes against hope that he won't be too late.

He finds what he's looking for; thank Fury and his pack-rat tendencies, holy Jesus. Tony runs to what is probably the exact opposite area of the Helicarrier than where he was, because of course Fury would put it far away. He's a bastard like that.

Once he gets what he needs – _god, they're heavy_ – he scrambles back to the main control area with the big fancy window. The intercom is crackling, units being ordered to various parts of the Helicarrier, but the one piece of information he needs— _Thor and Loki sighted on the bridge, all available units proceed there immediately_ —is included. So Tony runs, and when he explodes onto the bridge after hacking the automatic-lockdown sequence on the door, he's met with chaos.

Steve is fighting Thor on some of the tables with what looks like a torn-off piece of metal. Computers are smashed all around their feet and sparks shower down from the shattered remains of florescent lights. Clint and Natasha are fighting Loki as a pair, Natasha with two knives and Clint with the splintered-off end of his bow and a mangled arrow. Tony can spot four doors leading to the bridge sealed with some sort of magical substance, SHIELD agents trapped on the other side.

The Avengers are running out of steam—after all, they're mortals fighting gods. Loki catches Clint in the chest with the butt of his spear, throwing him off the table, and Natasha snarls and drives one of her knives into his kneecap in retaliation. Loki staggers but regains his balance. Steve is just barely dodging Mjolnir, fighting defensively now.

Well, Tony didn't run off to Fury's storage room for nothing. He calibrates the weapons, fingers flying across the screen.

"Get down!" Tony yells, his voice cracking like a whip across the wrecked room. The Avengers all throw themselves to the floor, glass shards flying. Thor and Loki turn towards him, weapons raised, and Tony fires the Tesseract-powered cannons that had drawn Loki to Earth in the first place.

Twin bolts of blue energy hit the demigods square in the chest, slamming them backwards. The magical substance covering the doors vanishes, seemingly with Loki's consciousness, and SHIELD agents burst onto the bridge to apprehend Thor and Loki with their usual amazing timing.

As the agents start filling up the room and voices start barking orders again, Tony leans on the cannon and is hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion. He's been running on an empty fuel tank of adrenaline and caffeine for the past who-knows-how-many hours. Steve, Natasha, and Clint all seem to sigh at the same time and uncoil their muscles.

"The bastard broke my bow," Clint mutters after a while, and they all crack tired smiles in reply.

 

***

 

SHIELD has Thor and Loki in separate cells. They (might) have learned their lesson after Loki escaped so easily pre-New York, because the cells this time are in a base hundreds of feet below the Earth. Tony thinks the base is in Iowa or Nebraska or something—the Helicarrier was off the East Coast, near New England, and SHIELD didn't want to risk Thor and Loki waking up on the transfer ride to the bigger base in Texas, so they get stuck with a secondary base.

Tony doesn't think that any base will be strong enough to hold Thor and Loki if they really do want to get out, but Fury's eye is already twitching, so he won't argue out loud. It's bad enough that it's _Thor_ and _Loki_ in there.

The cells are on opposite sides of the compound and the walls are reinforced with concrete and steel, requiring at least five checkpoints before even reaching the door. Mjolnir has been chained down in a separate part of the base in a room lined with adamantium. He can't see it from here, but he knows that Fury has gas ready to be released into their cells. Fury, or perhaps the World Security Council, is being very, very, careful.

The remaining Avengers are in one of the control rooms in the Iowa compound, staring down at the live security footage of the two cells. Fury steps up next to them, Coulson standing behind him, having joined them in Iowa with Bruce. They all stand in relative silence for a moment, the only sound being Thor's pacing on his screen. He keeps holding his hand out, as if to summon Mjolnir, before putting it back down with a conflicted expression. Loki, by contrast, is sitting with eyes closed, but there's a razor-sharpness to him that Tony can't deny.

He wishes he still had the Tesseract cannons, but SHIELD took them away. Bastards.

"Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?" Fury says lowly. "And why Thoris locked up with _Loki,_ a highly volatile enemy of ours that we _sent to another dimension?"_

Tony rolls his eyes. "Wouldn't we all like to know," he mutters.

Natasha hears him— _ugh, agents_ —and rolls her eyes before saying, "We don't exactly know either, sir. Thor attacked our jet as we were en route back to Avengers HQ. We saw that the Helicarrier was under attack by both Thor and Loki, and returned to lend assistance. The last time I saw Thor was right before Steve and I came to inform you that he had been summoned back to Asgard." She looks at all of them with narrowed eyes. "Anyone else?"

Clint shakes his head. "Bruce and I hadn't seen the rest of the team for a few days," he says.

Steve looks at him, because, duh, Tony's the last person who saw Thor. "Tony?" He asks.

"Oh yeah, I saw him this morning. Had a nice conversation about how to destroy SHIELD over a cup of coffee."

"This isn't a game, Stark," Fury says tightly.

"Everything's a game to me," Tony says easily, eyeing the way that Fury's jaw twitches slightly. "And screw you, _Director._ The last time I saw him was yesterday morning," he says smoothly. "No, he didn't tell me anything except that he had been summoned back to Asgard."

There's silence after his statement, because really, none of them have any idea what to do.

"If none of you have anything to confess, then I'm gonna send my agents down." Ok, so Fury does have an idea of what to do, but his ideas are crap.

Tony coughs. "That is the worst idea I've ever heard," he says. Fury barely looks at him.

"Fine, then, Stark, if you're so inclined, you can talk to Loki," he spits out the name like a curse. "Agent Romanoff, you have Thor."

"Fine," Tony retorts, because he's petty and has a problem with authority. Fury looks surprised for a second before a frown etches itself onto his face. Tony squares his shoulders and starts walking toward the insane mischief god stuck in this god-awful base.

"Hey—Tony, you don't—" Steve calls after him, worried.

"If I die, you're still not allowed to touch my scotch," Tony says flippantly over his shoulder.

Steve makes a strangled noise behind him before Tony steps into one of SHIELD's elevators and his voice is cut off.

He makes his way to Loki's cage with a few directions from various SHIELD agents. None of them look surprised at his destination choice, so he figures Fury sent out a SHIELD memo or something on his fool's mission to Loki. The only sound in the florescent-lit hallways is his footsteps.

He goes through all the necessary security checks before coming to a safe-like door armed with two agents. One of them stops Tony with a hand on his arm. The guard's gloved grip is like a steel shackle.

"If you appear compromised," the guard says steadily through his helmet, "we are authorized to bring you down any way possible."

He looks young, with sandy hair peeking out from his visor and wide brown eyes. Probably one of the newer recruits, Tony guesses, sent down here to do the grunt work and to be the insubstantial barrier between Loki and the outside world. SHIELD's version of the redshirts.

The huge, heavy safe door opens silently. As soon as he steps inside, Loki's green eyes snap open and focus on him. A slow smile steals over his mouth.

There's still a wall of bulletproof glass that, if damaged, will lock down everything within a hundred foot radius and release gas into the cell. It separates Tony from Loki, but now it feels as insubstantial as paper. Loki has a _presence,_ and Tony hadn't noticed as much last time, but his skin is crawling.

"Iron Man," Loki purrs, and this was a really stupid idea. "I was not expecting you."

"I would say it's a pleasure to see you," Tony says guardedly, starting to pace. He's always thought better when in motion. "—but I would be lying."

Loki looks amused. "Would you?"

Tony grins, because two can play at this game. "Fairly sure, yeah," he replies, and shoves his hands in his pockets to rock back on his heels. Look relaxed, right. A bit hard since he's wound up tight with tension. "Why don't you start by telling me why you're here?"

"Do not think that I want to be. I'd rather face down Hel herself than be back in this disgusting realm."

Tony's eyebrows threaten to climb into his hair. "Yeah, forgive me for not believing that. You didn't answer my question."

Loki looks bored. "Why should I?"

Tony bares his teeth in a semblance of a smile. "Because there are a lot of people who are still bitter over what you did, and if you won't be helpful, there's no reason to keep you around." Tony is bluffing, because Fury wouldn't dare risk losing a bargaining chip like Loki, but the Director wouldn't pause to torturing him if Loki wouldn't give them the information they needed.

Loki puts his hands together and rests his fingertips on his chin, closing his eyes. "Don't lie to the God of Lies, Anthony Stark."

Tony narrows his eyes and resists the urge to grind his teeth together. His head throbs and he resists moving his bound arm. Instead, he coughs into the crook of his elbow.

Loki's eyes shoot open at the sound and he stares at him. There's a surprised look on his face, and he draws in a sharp breath before clamping his lips together tightly. "If you must know, I come with the permission of the _Allfather,"_ Loki says, his composure regained. His words are mocking but his face has been wiped blank. His shoulders suddenly hunch, curving forward in an almost defensive gesture.

Tony stares at him. What the hell was that? He blinks, hard, and schools his face into something less unprotected.

"And why did he send you back here?" Tony doesn't know what Loki is doing, or if he's even telling the truth, but there's nothing to do now except play along.

Loki stares at him guardedly, a sharp contrast to when Tony walked into here only a few minutes ago. "It is part of my sentence. Thor is only here to make sure I don't _disobey,"_ Loki spits. The blank face he put on earlier is showing cracks, something like fear creeping into the corners of his expression.

And he's staring at Tony.

Tony is confused, though he doesn't show it. Loki couldn't possibly be _afraid._ That doesn't even make sense. He clears his throat and it brings out a wracking cough that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Loki's gaze is skittering now, flicking between Tony and the door and the one-way mirror behind him set high into the wall. He fixes his eyes on Tony as he utters his next words.

"What, then, was your sentence?" Tony has to go on with the presence of an interrogation, but it's feeling like the tables are turned and that Loki is getting more out of this than Tony is.

"Torture. Imprisonment. That, apparently, was not enough for the Allfather, so here I am," Loki says with the barest hint of a smirk.

"The Midgard related part of your sentence," Tony elaborates unnecessarily. "Why are you here?" Loki knows what he meant and his lip curls.

"The Allfather believes that your people stole the Tesseract."

Well, shit.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Tony leaves soon after in a daze. He blinks back into himself when he's led back to the control room that Fury and the others are in, stumbling slightly as he steps over the threshold. It causes a jab of pain into his injured thigh.

Inside is chaos. Fury and Steve are snarling at each other while Bruce sits in a corner with his hands clamped over his ears. Natasha is trying to placate Fury with a hand on his arm, but the Director shakes her off angrily and she looks dangerously close to yelling herself. Clint is speaking lowly at Coulson, jabbing a finger into the agent’s chest, something small and betrayed twisting his features.

Tony finds the wall panel that regulates the room and starts flicking the lights on and off in a kindergarten teacher’s attempt to quiet the class. Everyone goes silent, but only to glare at him. Huh.

Fury is, of course, the first to break the hush that's fallen over the room.

"SHIELD didn't steal the fucking Tesseract," he growls. There's a vein pulsing in his forehead.

"Are you sure?" Steve retorts. "I seem to recall SHIELD using the Tesseract's power to create weapons before and then _lying_ about it."

"Ex _cuse_ me, do you think I have the resources to _break into—"_

"I think you would _try_ —"

Tony slams his good hand down on the nearest convenient table and stares them down. Fury looks away, nostrils flaring, while Steve has the manners to look abashed.

"Look, this is probably exactly what Loki wanted. We just have to figure things out like the rational adults we are," he says bitingly. It's only a little bit sarcastic.

"We didn't steal the Tesseract," Fury repeats, sounding displeased. "I don't know what drugs Asgard has been dosed with, but SHIELD hasn't seen it since New York."

Bruce, who has finally decided to come out of his corner now that the screaming has stopped, fiddles with the silver watch on his wrist. "Wouldn't we have seen some evidence? Portals usually are accompanied by some sort of energy spike."

"Who says Earth stole it in the first place?" Tony asks. "All we really know is that _Loki_ thinks the Tesseract is missing. Or wants us to believe that, anyway."

"And Thor," Steve says, eyes narrowed.

"Thor said so?" Tony turns to Natasha, surprised.

"Yeah," she says, her eyes flicking to Clint once before focusing back on him. "Summarized, he said basically the same thing Loki did. Tesseract missing, apparently Odin thinks that SHIELD stole it because of that whole fiasco in New Mexico, and part of Loki's sentence is to find it and return it to Asgard. Their stories matched up."

"Guess that's why they sent Thor along," Tony mutters under his breath. Raising his voice, he adds, "Of course, this is all based on the assumption that Loki and Thor are telling the truth."

"Did Thor look like he was acting under his own will?" Steve asks.

"There were no blue crazy eyes, if that's what you're asking," Natasha replies. "But he's never had a great resistance to Loki."

"That was before New York," Clint points out.

"We can't bet on the fact that Thor is trustworthy anymore." It's Fury, obviously.

"Loki doesn't have the scepter anymore," Steve argues. "Wasn't that what he was using to control people? If Thor seems lucid, then… unfortunately, he's probably telling the truth."

"So then what do you—"

Steve is cut off by a previously blank screen set into the wall that blares to life of its own accord.

_"Reports are coming in of a massive blue flare before the explosion occurred. It is unknown how many survived the blast, as it is estimated that there were at least 500 deaths and counting, but paramedics are on the scene now. There is still no word on what caused this immense tragedy, though it has, without a doubt, burned the building to the ground."_

The camera cuts to the wrecked shell of Stark Tower.

Tony blinks and stares, uncomprehending.

"Stark Tower," Tony says faintly. He scrubs his face with a shaking hand and grits his teeth. He can't breathe right, and sound is fading in and out, like static on a bad television. Tony is dimly aware of people muttering, exclaiming in horror. What the fucking hell? _Stark Tower. Burned the building to the ground._

There's a hand on his shoulder and he lashes out blindly, nearly clipping Bruce in the face. Bruce ducks and then looks up again, an urgent expression on his face.

"Tony, you need to get it together," Bruce hisses. There's a faint green tinge to his eyes and Tony stares at him wildly, not sure what he's asking. "Breathe."

Tony's chest is heaving in uneven gasps, but he does as Bruce says and tries to slow down his frantic heartbeat. In, out. His eyes snap open, the weight of the bombing rushing back to him.

"Shit. God, _shit."_ Jesus fucking Christ, _Pepper._ Was she in there today? What about Katherine Bewell, one of his managers for the lower levels? Or Jasper Tanaka, who guided all the new interns around? Stark Tower hadn't been an empty building for just himself, there was a goddamned business being run in there, and now it's burned to the ground.

Tony grabs for his phone, intending to call Pepper, but aborts the motion when he realizes that his phone is a useless piece of glass in his pocket from Thor's attack.

"I need a phone," he hears himself mutter. It feels like a dream. Time moves like molasses as he steps over to the SHIELD wall unit and punches in Pepper's number with locked fingers.

It rings, and rings, and rings. He closes his eyes and runs a shaky hand over his face.

_"Hello, this—this is Potts."_

He's glad his hand is covering his face so no one can see him so vulnerable. "Pepper," he breathes.

_"Oh my god, Tony? You're okay, right? I saw the news, god, I didn't know if you were in there today—I was so worried, you asshole—"_

"I thought—I thought you were working at Stark Tower for this week."

_"No, no, I got called out to a business conference in Japan. Jesus, Tony, what happened?"_ She sounds shaken and he will murder whoever did this.

"I don't know. But there's—" Tony raises his head, realization dawning with black rage. "Look, Pep, I gotta go. I'm glad you're okay."

_"Tony! Tony, you absolute—"_

He hangs up and _sprints_ down to Loki's cage.

Tony doesn't waste any time with bullshit security checkpoints and pushes back the stupid guards. His tower was _burned to the ground;_ he deserves some answers.

Loki is lying down on his back, cracking his knuckles in front of him and contemplating the ceiling. He raises an eyebrow when Tony comes bursting in.

"Back so soon?"

"What the fuck did you do?" Tony hisses, marching right up to Loki's glass cage. He's so close that his breath starts to fog on the smooth surface.

"Do?"

"My tower—the tower that you _attacked_ —has been reduced to gravel on the street and I want to know why," Tony spits. His hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists.

Loki sits up, neatly folding his legs into a cross-legged position. He looks… unsurprised. "Shouldn't you be turning to your own government for that?" he asks. It's taunting but it doesn't look like Loki believes it.

"No," Tony says shortly. "SHIELD didn't do this. There's something weird going on here and you know what it is."

Loki tips his head to the side, a considering look on his face. "Reduced to gravel, you say?"

"Gravel and the bodies of all the people working there today," Tony replies in a strained voice. He stares at Loki in confusion, white-hot rage dimming somewhat. What is he playing at?

"I do believe you know what caused this."

"I wouldn't be _down_ here if I—" Tony starts, but then cuts himself off. Thinks. He berates himself for being so stupid, because he should have seen this coming. It seemed so _familiar_ that it subconsciously drew him down to Loki in the first place—because the only thing powerful enough to take out his entire tower while sending off a giant blue flare in the sky is the Tesseract.

Loki is watching him, an unreadable look on his face. So he and Thor were telling the truth about it being missing, then.

"Then who. Has. The Tesseract," Tony grits out.

"That is the question, isn't it?" Loki grins a mouthful of jagged edges and for the first time Tony can see a flicker of something unguarded cross his marble features. The fear from before is crawling back into his expression, his eyes glinting with a suppressed hysteria.

"The answer is already contained within you."

Tony stares at Loki like he's insane, which he probably is. "Cont—"

Before he can finish his sentence, Tony is seized with a coughing fit that drives him to his knees. He's clutching his throat and _god, he can't breathe;_ there are knives driving into his chest. His ribs were already messed up and this is not helping. Tony is dimly aware of Loki standing like a statue behind the glass before he's distracted. The coughs are getting worse, if that's possible, and now there's blood or something splattering the floor in front of him.

No, not blood. It's purple and slimy and now there's literally something crawling out of his throat. He's gagging and filmy violet liquid splashes on his hands and on his pants, the liquid dripping out of his nose and mouth. The _thing_ is moving in his throat and he feels sick.

Now there _is_ blood coming out with the purple liquid, ruby red drops mixing with indigo. There's a horrible, piercing pain in his chest, and liquid is filling up his throat and his lungs and he can't breathe.

Another spasm wracks his body and the thing comes slithering out of his mouth. It lands with a wet flop into the puddle of purple slime and blood on the floor, its iridescent, green-violet skin winking in the light. It's slimy and long with lots of legs like a centipede.

Tony stares at it for a second before turning and retching onto the floor. He hasn't eaten enough in the past 48 hours, though, and all that comes out is bile and blood. There's a guttural, moaning sound in the air and he realizes that it's him.

SHIELD agents and Avengers alike come blaring into the room. There's lots of yelling – wonderful, by the way, nice to know they cared – and a few of the SHEILD agents are dressed in what looks like HAZMAT suits. The agents won't let anyone touch him, not even Bruce, and Steve once again looks ready to persuade Fury the hard way. Tony thinks drowsily that maybe the agents have a good point though, as he did just puke out some kind of slug straight out of _Alien._

Weird multicolored spots dance in his vision and he thinks absentmindedly that that's probably not a good sign. His chest feels like it's splitting open and he's gasping for breath but all that fills up his lungs is liquid. Someone is leaning over him, a dark shadow against the bare white ceiling, and _when did he get on his back?_

Cool fingers press on his temple and abdomen, and Tony tastes mint and icy metal before he blacks out for good.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony wakes up flat on his back upon a freezing cold surface. He opens his eyes to twinkling white lights—stars, he realizes. But they're not any stars he recognizes.

Where the hell is he?

He sits up and realizes with a start that all of his injuries have vanished. The surface beneath him looks like marble, polished to a glassy finish. Tony looks around and holy fuck, he's not even on Earth. He's sitting on some sort of floating landmass, high spires of jagged rock breaking through the smooth marble floor haphazardly. In his peripheral vision he can see floating stone steps leading away from the island, down into the endless abyss of space.

"Tony Stark. The Iron Man," a voice rumbles. The voice he heard when he was flying on a false mission. The one that sounds like fire and snapping bones. Tony whips around and sees a tall rock throne that conceals its occupant.

"Not my first choice. Yet… you have become more important that you realize."

Tony wishes for once that someone would just explain something plainly instead of dancing around the issue with a bunch of cryptic bullshit. And yes, he's also talking about Loki.

The voice speaks again, startling him. This time it's rough and jagged, like screeching metal.

"I have a message."

"Let me guess—not for me," Tony dares, his heart in his throat.

"So it is smarter than it looks," the voice says, mock surprised. Tony can hear the shark grin embedded in the words. "This message is for Loki Laufeyson."

The voice is as deep as a rolling thunderstorm when it utters the next words.

"Tell him… Thanos is coming for him personally."

Tony wakes with a start.

He opens his eyes blearily, holding the image of the dream tight in his head, willing it to be imprinted in his memory. "Thanos?" He mutters to himself.

Loki is suddenly very, very close to his face.

"What did you say?" He hisses.

Tony does not give an unmanly yelp. Really. "What the hell?"

Loki grips his shoulders tight, and Tony feels like that should hurt more than it does. Didn't he fall from airplane height? Come to think of it, his arm and fingers aren't bound up and he can move them freely. He's… healed. But whatever it was, it wasn't natural.

"I asked," Loki snarls, "What. Did. You. Say."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You did," Loki says. He looks feverish, his pale skin containing an unhealthy flush. "You did. Tell me what it was."

"I…" Tony stares at him, nonplussed. What's going on, with Loki half out of his mind with something Tony mumbled about a dream? "Thanos. I said Thanos."

Loki goes whiter than a sheet. "Where did you hear this?"

"I don't fucking _know."_

Loki digs icy hands into his newly healed shoulders and Tony grunts. He squirms and finally yells out, "A dream, okay? I just woke up. It didn't mean anything."

"Dreams are more important than you realize. Tell me."

"It wasn't anything," Tony grunts. He's uncomfortably aware of how close Loki is. "I was in a—a rock throne room or something. In space. And there was a voice—" Tony swallows. He still doesn't know if he imagined the whole situation before the fall. "And it said to tell _you_ , 'Thanos is coming for you personally'."

Loki lets out a shuddering breath and slides onto the floor to pace. Tony is unnervingly relieved. Now that he has a chance to look around without Loki practically straddling him, he realizes that he's in Avengers HQ, not the Iowa SHIELD base.

Tony sits up and okay, he's not as healed as he thought. There's a queasy, lurching feeling in his stomach and he blinks his eyes to clear the dizziness that's suddenly sprung up. Cured—how was he cured, anyway? The last thing he remembered was coughing up… something. Something that had lots of legs and slimy scales.

"I cured you," Loki says from his pacing by the bed, and oops. Tony's been doing that thing where he spews out his internal narrative. "In return, your Avengers allowed me to be locked up here instead of with SHIELD."

"Locked up?" Tony looks around, but his room looks the same as always, no extra security precautions put in place. Odd. And not… _right._

"And they left you alone with me," Tony says flatly. Whatever this is, it's not normal protocol.

Loki's lip curls. "As I am the one who managed to keep you from dying, it wouldn't be prudent to keep me hours away if you relapsed. Once I explained the situation to your teammates, they were quite happy to comply."

"And what," Tony asks slowly, "—is the situation?"

Loki narrows his eyes. "Somehow, you were infected with a Chitauri brain parasite. One of the rarer and probably deadlier kinds. Something triggered it and it expelled itself from your system as a self-defense mechanism, possibly a second exposure to my magic. The expulsion of the parasite would have killed you if not for my help, which I graciously offered in return for a safe passage out of SHIELD."

Brain parasite. What the hell? A _Chitauri_ parasite, no less.

But it's a _brain parasite._

"What does it do?"

Loki stops pacing long enough to give him a strange look. "I don't have… much experience with them," he says. It sounds painful for him to admit. "But I believe that loss of control, hallucinations, memory problems, and excruciating pain wouldn't be out of the question."

Ah, fuck. Hallucinations. The Atlantic. At least Tony knows (thinks) that he's not insane anymore. But—

"My team," he mutters, and Stark Tower, the Tesseract, he has to figure out who did that. And the parasite formerly living in his brain – where did that go? He can't lie around in bed; Tony doesn't do lying around when there are this many problems.

As he's starting to get out of the stupidly comfortable bed, Loki snaps, "Sit down," and flicks his fingers at Tony. An invisible belt slams him back down forcefully onto the bed, binding his arms and torso to the mattress. He squirms, trying to get out of it.

"What do you want?" Tony says angrily, trying to cover up the panicky feeling spreading through him like poison. He hates being constricted, especially around his chest, where the arc reactor sits.

"I won't have you dying on me when you are my passage out of here," Loki snarls. There's something else lurking underneath his gaze, though. Something that tells Tony maybe this is a test. Unless Loki is planning on killing him, in which maybe he was just waiting until he got Tony alone.

Tony stops struggling long enough to look him up and down with a searching gaze.

"Thanos," he says, a touch desperately.

Loki's head snaps up. "What?"

"Thanos. You said that the answer to whoever had the Tesseract was 'already contained within me.' I puke out a Chitauri brain parasite and then have a supposedly accurate dream, containing the name 'Thanos.' Whoever Thanos is has something to do with all of this."

Loki tilts his head, looking slightly less murderous and more inclined to considering.

"Bruce and I can try to track the Tesseract," Tony cajoles. "Let me help you."

It's the wrong thing to say.

"Why would I need a mortal's help?" Loki sneers. The bond tightens on Tony's chest and he wheezes. "I don't need you and I certainly don't need the _Avengers."_ He spits the name out like poison.

Tony glares up from his paralyzed position. "You're the one trapped in our headquarters, if you didn't remember. Don't tell me you don't need any _help,_ because your idea of recapturing the Tesseract was trying to blow up the Helicarrier. Now, why are you hanging around? I have no doubt you could escape any time if you wanted to."

A muscle tightens in Loki's jaw and there's something knowing in his face, but he doesn't answer.

"Look," Tony sighs. He wants to pinch the bridge of his nose to relieve his throbbing headache, but his arm is currently being held hostage. "You aren't the only one involved in this now. Stark Tower was blown up, my work was destroyed and _my people_ were killed. You may try to find the Tesseract and Thanos on your own, but don't think for a _second_ that I'll give up just because you had first dibs."

Loki clenches his hand into a fist so tight his knuckles turn white. "I don't want your help. I want you to stay away," he grits out.

"I don't care," Tony fires back. "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm telling you that I will be tracking down the Tesseract. Whether you choose to interfere or not is your choice, but know that if you try in any way to stop me I will cut you up into so many pieces you won't ever have a chance of healing."

"A bit of an ambitious goal, for a mortal," Loki says disdainfully, but there are cracks in his marble façade. The pressure on Tony's chest releases and Loki turns his back to him. "Leave," Loki says. "I don't want to see your face again."

Something shifted in the air. Tony doesn't know when or how, but something changed. He opens the door and leaves in silence. He doesn't know what Loki's game plan—

The door was unlocked when he opened it.

What?

Tony tries to go back into his room, but the door has mysteriously locked itself again. _Shit._

He's dressed in the same clothes he had on outside Loki's SHIELD cage and for who knows how many hours, but he's barefoot. His phone and communicator are both gone. Looking around, he confirms his position in his own room and runs to the nearest elevator.

The elevator doors open in silence and he slams a hand on the button for the main floor.

"Jarvis?" Tony pants. The short sprint has winded him more than it should have and the queasy feeling is back in his stomach.

_"Sir,"_ Jarvis says. He sounds surprised, if that's possible. _"How are you awake at this time? My scans showed that you were supposed to be unconscious for a number of hours."_

"I have no idea," Tony mutters. He still doesn't know what the hell is going on. "Where's the team?"

_"In the common room, though I do not think—"_

The opening door cuts Jarvis off and Tony sprints out of the elevator. "Guys," he pants, skidding to a halt, "we have—"

Steve and Bruce are sitting tensely in the common room. There's no sign of Clint and Natasha and Tony guesses that they're at the shooting range or sparring. Steve stands up, looking startled. "Tony!" He says. "What—how are you awake right now?"

"I just woke up. By myself. Well, I mean, Loki was there, and that was a little creepy, couldn't you have warned me first?"

"Tony, slow down," Steve shakes his head and looked at him perplexedly. "Loki?"

"I thought—you brought me here. With Loki. He healed me, right?" Tony says. God, he's so confused.

Bruce and Steve are both looking at him strangely, and shit, this is familiar.

"Tony, Loki healed you, but as far as I know he's still in Iowa," Bruce says.

Tony wants to bang his head against a wall. Since he may or may not have had a Chitauri brain parasite, though, he settles for getting a scotch instead.

"Okay," Tony says after he's downed a glass. "Can you walk me through what happened? I think I'm a little out of it." He grins reassuringly.

It's a blatant lie, because he remembers everything, but he's already looked crazy enough in the past few days. Better not be committed to a mental ward.

Steve looks really, really freaked, but that's probably because Tony already hallucinated everything earlier with the whole "flying over the Atlantic" thing.

"You coughed a huge centipede thing when you went back down to Loki's cage. We—well, we let Loki cure you, but you were dying, Tony," Steve appeals. "Loki said the thing was a Chitauri brain parasite. After we were sure you were stabilized, we brought you here. Ah… alone. I think Fury is still at the Iowa base with Thor and Loki."

Chitauri brain parasite. So that part of Tony's maybe-hallucination in his room was true. The whole thing with Loki in his room actually feels real, but then again, so did the Atlantic incident. He just doesn't know anymore.

_"Sir,"_ Jarvis says gently. " _I apologize for disturbing you, but Director Fury is on the line."_

Tony raises his eyebrows at Bruce and Steve. "You were saying?" He turns away from them. "Jarvis, put him on."

_"Stark. Loki's escaped."_

Steve mutters something under his breath and Bruce shoves his hands in his pockets with displeasure. Tony just rolls his eyes.

"Of course," Tony says resignedly. "Got any other amazing news, Director?"

_"As a matter of fact, I do,"_ Fury says. Tony can detect the weariness in his voice. _"One, you get to help find Loki. Two, we're sending Thor over to HQ."_

"Find Loki? Fury, I have my hands full with whoever used the Tesseract to blow up my tower. Also, how do you know—"

_"Hold on a second. The Tesseract? That's what destroyed your narcissistic temple? How the hell did you—"_

"I used this organ inside my skull called a brain. You might want to try it sometime. And by the way, my 'narcissistic temple' had people— _civilians_ —in it when it was blown up. Show a little respect."

_"Respect?"_ Fury snorts. _"Right. That's rich, coming from you. However, you're now an Avenger, so try to do your goddamned job and shut this down before anything else happens."_

Tony hangs up, a hot ball of anger throbbing in his chest. So Loki escaped out of SHIELD's mall-cop security and is who knows where. Damn.

Also, Thor is coming back to HQ—maybe as a prisoner, maybe as an ally. Who knows, Tony thinks bitterly. And he has to start tracking the Tesseract, and figuring out who Thanos is, and finding out all he can about Chitauri brain parasites. He hates the fact that there was something in his head possibly controlling him and he didn't even realize. He's just glad he didn't have to cut open his head to get it out.

Tony starts toward the kitchen, muttering, "Coffee," under his breath. He needs a boost of caffeine to get him started on this mess.

Suddenly, there's a sweater-covered arm barring Tony's way. "Nope," Bruce says, and starts pushing him backwards, towards the elevator.

"Hey," Tony protests. "No, I gotta go down to the workshop and start up the tracking algorithm again, and I gotta research, and—"

Bruce stops. "Tracking algorithm for what?"

"The Tesseract! What, do you think I've just been blowing smoke outta my ass this whole time?" Tony says crossly, using Bruce's brief distraction to scoot past him.

"Tony," Steve calls urgently from back in the common room, "How do you know for sure?"

"Yeah, as far as—hey, not so fast," Bruce says, snagging Tony's shirt collar and dragging him back.

Tony blows out a sigh and stares at both of them in exasperation. "Someone used the Tesseract to blow up Stark Tower," he says lowly. "Look, it's kind of hard to explain, but trust me on this. Didn't you see the news? Blue flare, massive explosion, personal significance? And don't you think it's strange that it's coincidentally at the same time that we captured Thor and Loki?"

Bruce looks uncertain, while Steve's expression is unreadable.

"I guess, but still—" Bruce begins.

"No buts. I have to look back into the explosion and start tracking the Tesseract. Move," Tony says, and attempts to shoulder past Bruce again.

"I don't think that'd be such a good idea," Bruce says, examining Tony closely through his glasses.

"Yeah," Steve says worriedly, stepping closer to where they're parked by the elevators. He has his crumply face on again. "You just—well, you just coughed up an _alien parasite._ Take it easy. Also, you don't look so great right now."

Tony is suddenly aware of the lurching feeling still present in his stomach. Come to think of it, he's also really, really, tired. He sways on his feet, blinking his eyes open—when did he close those, anyway?

"Let's go, Tony," Bruce sighs, and starts leading him… somewhere. That's okay, though, because it's Bruce. His science bro. It's all good here in HQ with his superhuman pals.

He's dunked on a bed that he thinks is his. Maybe.

"No, I don't want to dream," Tony protests weakly.

He promptly falls asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey, Tony," someone whispers. Rough, calloused hands shake his shoulders. "Tony. Dude, come on."

"Whazzgoinon?" Tony slurs.

"You need to get up. Like, right now," Clint hisses. "We have a problem."

"God. _Fine,"_ Tony grumbles. He gets out of his nice, warm bed and puts on the cold, cold clothes that Clint hands him. "You're as bad as Jarvis."

Clint brightens a little at that before hastily scowling again. "Stop changing the subject. Look, I don't know the exact details but it's bad."

"What's bad?" Tony asks, tugging his shirt down and slipping his lost communicator into his pocket.

In answer, Clint says, "Jarvis, news," and his stomach drops.

_"A block in Brooklyn was destroyed only an hour ago. While the block itself was not highly populated, it holds immense historical significance as the location where Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, was injected with the super soldier serum back in the 1940s. The explosion seems similar to the one at Stark Tower that occurred only yesterday. Are these terrorist attacks? Is someone targeting the Avengers? We are—"_

Clint shuts the screen off.

"Shit," Tony says loudly into the following silence.

"Yeah," Clint replies grimly. "Come on, we're having a meeting downstairs."

Tony follows Clint into the elevator—he thinks this qualifies for an emergency—and when they get to the meeting room he stops dead.

"Thor is here," Tony says dumbly. He's pretty sure he's gaping openly. Thor looks more tired than a god of thunder has any right to be, shadows darkening under his eyes and his hair unkempt. He may be in the meeting room, but Fury and his crew still clearly don't trust him. There are thick black chains wrapped around his wrists.

"Yeah, and so are Fury and Hill and Coulson and everyone else, so try _not_ to be an asshole, okay?" Clint whispers.

Tony scrubs his eyes blearily—he thinks that the sleep didn't help much at all—and slides into the empty chair next to Clint and Steve. When he looks up Fury is staring at him narrowly from across the table.

"Alright," Fury says, standing up to clasp his hands behind his back. "How about each of you tell me what you think is going on. We'll start with you, Stark."

Tony scowls and slouches back in his chair. Figures Fury would pick him first. "Fuck no. I just woke up," he groans, putting his head down on his arms.

 _"Stark,"_ Fury repeats warningly.

Tony’s thoughts start racing. Making connections. "What do you want me to say? Stark Tower and the location of Project Rebirth were both blown up within days of each other, which—well, putting that as a 'connection' to the Avengers is a bit of an understatement. Not to mention that SHIELD security is horrible and there's now a mad mischief god on the loose. Oh, and that I puked out a parasite coming from an alien race we supposedly blew up with a nuclear weapon."

Fury's eye twitches. "Loki is not our primary concern at the moment," he rumbles, shooting a look at Thor. "What we need to focus on is the fact that two places that should have been very hard to hit are now destroyed by whoever has the Tesseract."

"And what would you like us to do?" Steve says coolly. He looks tense, hands clenched into fists that are resting in his lap. His mouth is set into a thin line.

"Find it," Hill speaks up. "We need to track the Tesseract down before the bomber strikes again."

"I set up the tracking algorithm," Bruce says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. At Tony's questioning glance, he adds, "When you were asleep. But the results are… spotty. I can't find a clear location or even a clear trail. It'll pop up and disappear, then reappear somewhere completely different. I can't tell if something's malfunctioning or if the Tesseract is actually moving like that."

"A teleporter," Thor says lowly. He raises his head and makes eye contact with Bruce. "The Tesseract isn't permanently on this Earth. It is travelling between dimensions."

Fury huffs out a breath. "Figures. Fine," he bites. "Send me a log of all the places it has appeared. Don't leave anything out."

Bruce nods and starts scribbling something in the notebook he brought. Clint and Coulson are having some non-verbal conversation across from the table, and not a person in the room looks relaxed.

"I want to check out the bomb site," Tony says abruptly, standing up.

Fury waves a hand dismissively. "I already have agents on location," he says. "They're combing the place."

"I'll go with him," Natasha says, and slides out of her chair silently to stand next to him.

Tony looks at her, surprised. She's earned his respect and him hers, but they've never been close. After her Natalie Rushman gig he never quite trusted her outside of the battlefield. To him, she'll always be a SHIELD agent first and an Avenger second—but maybe that can change. She's offering to go with him on a fool's errand that won't turn up anything, and that's got to count for something.

"Thanks," he murmurs to her as they're heading out of the meeting room.

"No problem," Natasha replies. She's dressed in civvies, but she still looks dangerous—she has that razor sharpness to her. Like Loki. Maybe it's the mark of manipulation.

"I'll get the car," she says, startling Tony out of his thoughts.

"What? No. SHIELD cars are hideous and so obviously SHIELD that it hurts. We're taking one of mine."

Natasha shrugs, and smirks. "Only if it's the new Porsche I saw you got."

"Can do, will do. Let's go."

Natasha winds up driving because she claims he's "too injured to drive this baby." An uneasy quiet settles over the interior of the car as they get closer to the bombsite. A black cloud of smoke hangs over the block and an acrid scent fills Tony's nose, an unnatural hush permeating the air. White flakes of ash drift down from the sky like snow.

SHIELD agents are indeed there, nice to know Fury was telling the truth, and they've closed off the whole place with caution tape and signs. Debris is scattered everywhere and Tony can see sprays of glass glittering on the remains of the sidewalk. Natasha parks the car a little ways from the bombsite, and the SHIELD agents let them through with a flash of her badge.

What used to be buildings has been reduced to ash. Nothing is left of the center of the block, which Tony assumes is where Project Rebirth was. It's as though the building never existed. The explosion was powerful enough to create a huge crater that Tony estimates is probably 20 feet deep. Burned debris and blackened concrete pieces are fringed on the edges, along with what looks like scorched bones. The air feels poisoned.

Tony starts picking his way down the steep walls of the crater, leaving Natasha standing doubtfully at the edge. She doesn't stay behind him for long, though, and soon she's bounding ahead of him on the broken slabs of concrete.

They reach the bottom of the crater, where the explosion was powerful enough that only dust remains. Tony's hands are soot-smudged from climbing over charred debris and there are ash flakes dotting Natasha's scarlet curls. A SHIELD agent starts to yell at them before Natasha turns to him and narrows her eyes, which shuts him up quickly.

"I don't know if you're going to find anything here that SHIELD hasn't already confiscated," Natasha says lowly, back still turned to him.

Tony stares out over the pitted landscape of debris and sorrow. "Yeah, just—just let me look for a second." He makes his way towards the middle of the crater, his feet leaving blurry footprints in the dust. He feels as though he's searching for something.

Tony stops at a point in the very center of the crater. He doesn't know why, but the place feels important. Like the shadow of something long dead and gone. White ash falls slowly from the uniform grey sky.

He looks down.

There's a Captain America doll lying broken at his feet, one that Tony recognizes. After New York there was an abundance of Avengers merchandise being made—he's guilty of some of that, but hey, it was a great marketing opportunity for Stark Industries. Tony had gotten each of the team one of the prototypes and written something stupid on it before throwing it at them. Needless to say that idea wasn't very good for his health and he spent the whole day running away from Natasha, but…

He picks up the figurine and turns it over in his hands. Sure enough, "I liked the old boots more. –Tony" is written across the ass in Tony's messy scrawl.

The doll's chest has a clean-cut hole on the left side of the chest, where the heart would lie, but the rest is miraculously unmarked. It feels like a taunt.

"Is that…" Oh. He hadn't realized Natasha had come up behind him.

She presses her lips together and the skin around her eyes tightens. "How did it get here?"

"It's a message," Tony says with absolute surety.

Natasha stares at him with hardened blue-green eyes. "From who?"

Sighing, he says, "I don't—" before whipping his head towards the edge of the crater. _Flicker, flicker._ There's a shadow in his peripheral vision.

Stumbling over rubble and wreckage, Tony starts climbing up the side of the crater, the Captain America action doll clutched tight in his hand. He ignores Natasha's call of surprise when he takes off and is heedless of the fact that she starts running after him.

Something is drawing him towards the taunting flickers. He runs past the SHIELD tape and weaves around startled agents. There's ash getting in his mouth and he coughs, eyes watering. But the shadow is there, just out of his reach.

Tony slips into an alleyway, following the small movements he can see out of the corner of his eye. The buildings around him are old, the brick mortar worn out and crumbling, windows dark and shuttered closed. A broken down Honda sits forgotten in the corner, slightly rusted through. Cardboard and garbage lay soggy underfoot.

He can't see the shadow anywhere.

Suddenly, there's a thin sliver of metal pressed to his throat and a lean body pressed up behind him.

"Hand over the toy, love," Loki hisses into his ear. Long fingers press Tony's head forward towards the blade. The black spikes of Loki's hair tickle his shoulder.

"No thanks," Tony gasps out.

The knife digs into his throat, a thin trail of blood trickling down his neck. "Oh, don't make this harder than it already is," Loki drawls.

In answer, Tony tightens his fingers around the Captain America figure.

Loki exhales slowly. "Fine," he says, and there's a smirk on his face; Tony can feel it curling up against his ear.

As quick as a striking snake, Loki's hand is gripping his wrist so tight that Tony can feel the bones starting to grind together. He grits his teeth in pain but can't move for fear of the razor-sharp knife still digging into his throat.

Loki's hand tightens even more, if possible. Tony can practically hear his wrist creaking.

His fingers spring apart from around the doll unwillingly. Loki snatches it up before it hits the ground and Tony's hand goes limp, his wrist throbbing dimly.

"There, now," Loki says, tilting his head. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Tony asks through clenched teeth.

"Oh, don't be dull," Loki says. He sounds annoyed. "You knew I would be tracking down the Tesseract. You have your ways, I have mine."

"The Tesser—" Tony narrows his eyes. "Were you in my room yesterday?"

"I was," Loki says lightly, but there's tightness underneath the words. "Why, did you think it was a… hallucination?" He asks slyly.

Tony stares straight ahead and mentally promises to murder Loki when he has the chance. Though it is nice to know he wasn't hallucinating the incident in his room yesterday. "So how's life as a free man?" He grits out. He doesn't like this subject; let's move along now.

"Wonderful," Loki says sarcastically. Tony can tell that he’s aware of the diversion, but he surprisingly lets it go. "There's a mad being on the loose with an extremely powerful object who wants—" Loki pauses, as if he's rethinking his words. "—who wants nothing but death."

"That's great," Tony exhales, trying to squirm away.

Loki lets him go abruptly and steps back a few paces. Tony stumbles, unbalanced, and turns around quickly to face him, but Loki has vanished. There's only the empty alleyway and falling ash.

"Sweet dreams," the wind whispers in his ear. He sucks in a breath smelling of mint and frosty metal.

Pounding footsteps reach his ears and Natasha skids into the alley, her red curls askew.

"Tony Stark," she growls. Oops. "I am going to kill you."

He grimaces. "Loki was here."

Her murderous look doesn't disappear in the slightest, but now at least it's not directed at him. "When?" She asks.

Tony likes that about Natasha. She doesn't yell or waste time with unnecessary words, she goes right to the important questions.

"Two seconds ago, and that's not an exaggeration. He disappeared right before you ran in."

Natasha's eyes narrow. Something flickers in her eyes, but before Tony can identify it she shuts down her face firmly. "What did he do?"

"He threatened me like a good little villain before taking the Captain America figure. Said he needed it," Tony answers, looking at her closely.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Just that he was using it to track the Tesseract," he lies. He doesn't want to go into the details of what Loki said—actually, he doesn't want to even think about it. Explaining it to Natasha would require explaining that Loki breached HQ's defenses and made Tony think that Loki was a hallucination.

Natasha's jaw gives a tiny twitch. She's suspicious. Shit.

"Loki is tracking the Tesseract?"

"Guess he is now," Tony says. He looks away from her, to the ash-covered street. "We better get back to HQ. There's nothing more here."

Natasha looks unconvinced, but she follows him as they take the drive back to HQ in silence. There are ash flakes covering the both of them and it's getting all over the car interior. Tony is too numbed by Loki's visit to care, and Natasha keeps her hands on the wheel, though she does brush off a few flakes onto the floor irritably. She keeps shooting him glances when she thinks he can't see.

When they step inside HQ the mood is grim. Clint skids to a halt in front of them the moment Tony and Natasha get inside, talking agitatedly about Stark Tower as he drags them downstairs to Bruce's lab.

When they get there, the lab is abuzz with activity, a far cry from how serene it usually is. Bruce is examining something at a table, gloved hands occasionally making notes on a tablet. Steve is pacing around and around the room, alternating between snapping questions at Bruce and making his crumply face. Thor is sitting at a bench with a furrow between his brows. His hands are still bound in the black manacles, and the air is tense around him.

Tony sees what Bruce is examining and stops dead.


	7. Chapter 7

 

It's an Iron Man doll from the same batch of prototypes as the ones he gave his team. Only this time, instead of the heart cut out as with Steve's, there's a gaping hole where the arc reactor sits. He looks closer and sees that the hands are cut off as well, the shiny red forearm guards ending in stumps.

"What—" he chokes out. "Where did you find that?"

All eyes in the room turn to him. Steve stops bickering with Bruce and grimaces in his direction.

"We went to the Stark Tower bombing site after you and Natasha left," he begins. "It was completely destroyed, except for, well…" Steve gestures vaguely in the direction of the doll. "That."

Tony can feel Natasha as still as a statue behind him.

Steve continues agitatedly, sensing Natasha and Tony's unease. "We'd normally turn this over to forensics at SHIELD, but Bruce wanted to check it over first before they got their hands on it," he hesitates. "Did you—did you guys find anything?"

"Yeah," Tony says roughly, before Natasha can speak up from over his shoulder. "Yeah, except it was a Captain America one. The toy prototype I gave you after New York, you know, where I complimented your boots."

"The exact same one," Steve says, incredulous and a little bit afraid. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Or else it's a damn accurate copy."

A heavy silence follows.

Tony doesn't know what the others are thinking, but he knows that two data points are enough to at least predict a pattern. They're just waiting on a third to solidify one.

"What happened to it?" Steve asks finally.

"Loki," Natasha says crisply, shooting him a glance out of the corner of her eye. "He took it from Tony, but I don't know the full story."

Thor's eyes darken and he stares at Tony intensely. "Loki," he repeats flatly. "He appeared to you?"

Tony snorts, eyeing Thor uneasily. "Yeah, long enough for him to nearly slit my throat and take one of our only leads," he says.

"Nearly slit your throat?" That was Bruce, looking at his neck closely from his position by the examining table.

"He harmed you?" Thor rumbles at the same time.

"I'm fine," Tony says irritably. He can tell they've all spotted the thin trail of dried blood winding its way down his neck. As discreetly as he can manage, he scrapes the blood off his throat with his fingernails. Scabbed flakes dust the collar of his shirt.

"Did he say why he wanted it?" Clint asks, waving his hand vaguely. "The Cap figurine, I mean." His shoulders are drawn up tight from the mention of Loki.

"Yeah," Tony says. "Said he needed it to find the Tesseract." He looks to Thor unwillingly, but he’s the only one with experience in this type of situation. "Have any idea why?"

Thor looks uneasy. "Loki is most likely performing a tracking spell on the object. If whoever wields the Tesseract has touched the figurine recently, he will be able to find them."

"Well, that's a pleasant thought," Clint mutters darkly under his breath. Thor continues, speaking over him.

"But it does not make sense that Loki would continue on his sentence set for him by the Allfather without my presence requiring him to do so. If he is searching for the Tesseract, I fear that it is for personal gain."

Steve exhales through his teeth. "That's a… rather large problem."

Tony examines Thor through narrowed eyes as he paces, stuck on an earlier part of his statement. "Why didn't Loki just kill you when he was assigned his sentence?"

Thor looks resigned. "The Allfather has placed a spell on me. I cannot be wounded by Loki's hand. This is why he will most likely try to avoid any contact with me continuing onward."

Tony stops pacing, hands shoved loosely in his pockets, and raises his eyebrows. "Wow. That's… okay. But I don't know if 'personal gain' is all there is to it. Loki mentioned another big power player, someone who might have the Tesseract."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "And you're just telling us this now?" She asks.

"Yes," Tony says tetchily.

"Did he say who it was?" Bruce asks, fiddling with the tablet he has lying next to him.

"Maybe. He said someone's name. I don't know if it was the bomber or not," Tony says. He realizes he never actually got confirmation saying that Thanos was the one with the Tesseract, but Tony suspects it. He just knows it's all connected.

"And?" Steve says, raising his eyebrows and looking at Tony expectantly.

"Thanos. That was the name he said." Well. The name Tony dreamed, and the name Loki seemed genuinely afraid of.

Steve turns to face their local Asgardian god. Ever the Captain, Tony thinks humorlessly. Always looking to plan the battle. "Thor? Mean anything to you?" Steve asks.

Thor looks mystified. "I have not heard that name, no. But there are many hidden places in between the realms. Loki has traveled the cosmos much more than I. He may have encountered this 'Thanos' on one of his journeys."

Clint huffs out a breath. "So we have no lead, no evidence, a _potential_ suspect, and no idea where the Tesseract is," he ticks off on his fingers. "Where, exactly, were we going with this?"

"We have this," Bruce says, holding the Iron Man figurine gingerly. "I don't know if we'll be able to get anything off it, but I'm trying."

"Yeah, good idea," Tony says absentmindedly, turning around. "I'll come back and help you in a sec, I just gotta check on some things first."

"Hold on," Natasha says from her position next to him, snagging a sleeve with her finger. "Where are you going?"

"Workshop," Tony replies, tugging away. "Gotta go, science is calling!"

He practically sprints away from Bruce's lab, ignoring Steve's muffled protest from behind him. God, he has so many things to check on. A "sec" is a major understatement for how long he's going to take to figure all this out.

The workshop comes alive when he steps across the threshold.

"Prepare yourself, Jarvis, we have a lot of work to do," Tony says, clapping his hands together in anticipation.

_"There has been quite a lot going on,"_ Jarvis agrees smoothly. _"How are you faring, sir?"_

"Pretty good, considering the circumstances," Tony mutters. He spots the wrecked armor from when he fell into the Atlantic sitting on a table to the side.

He strides over to the big, cleared area that he uses a lot for drafting ideas, intent on pulling up every scrap of information that he can find on everything that's been happening lately.

"Alright. Jarvis, can you access the video feed in the Mark XIV and pull that up on the right? Also, get me SHIELD's files on Loki and the Tesseract over… here," he directs, gesturing toward the center of the table.

_"Coming right up, sir."_

Tony starts pulling up any pages he can find containing the words 'Thanos,' 'Chitauri,' 'brain parasite,' or any combination of the three on the left hand side. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the video feed loading and the SHIELD files he requested popping up seemingly endlessly. The information is lighting up in a U-shaped halo around him.

He decides to go in chronological order and tackle the video feed first. With a knot of dread in his stomach, he says, "Jarvis, play it," in a firm voice.

Tony fast-forwards through some of the empty footage of transport. He stops just short of when he thinks the call from Steve comes in and watches, his heart somewhere in his throat.

There's no call. There's nothing.

He's talking to himself inside the helmet.

Fuck, this looks a lot worse than it felt. It's not much more than what he suspected, but seeing it—seeing _himself_ —makes it a lot more real all of a sudden. And maybe he had held out the slight hope that it wasn't all in his head, that maybe someone had planted a call or something. After all, the fact that Loki was in his room turned out to be real, right?

The video continues on, but there's no static, no fiery voice. His systems shut down, yes, but Tony can't tell if it's a malfunction or a manual decision. The video is effectively useless in helping him find whoever it is. He slices his had through the air and the screen blinks out of sight.

"Jarvis, put this on my private server. Don't allow anyone access."

Jarvis beeps to confirm, already setting up the necessary security measures.

"Okay, moving on," Tony mumbles. "Moving on, moving on. Right."

Twitching his fingers, he directs the holographic pile of SHIELD files to spread out over where the video feed had been residing.

"Mind separating the Loki and Tesseract files?" Tony asks.

_"Already done,"_ Jarvis says, the files reorganizing in a matter of seconds.

"Thanks," he says absently. Tesseract first, then the vengeful reindeer asshole.

Tesseract. Weapons designs, no. He's already seen that, thanks. Tony swipes those to the side into a 'discard' pile. Origin: not Earth. Why is he not surprised? Was on Earth for a while, though—with Captain America and Red Skull back in the '40s, he remembers stories on _that._ Then of course there's the whole New York shebang.

Tony skims over something that makes him pause. Erik Selvig's scanned notes from his time working with the Tesseract. Now that's something he can use.

The notes are helpful in providing general information on the Tesseract, but they don't tell him what he needs. It's not until he spots a tiny note in the margins that he realizes how deep of a hole they've dug themselves into. Tony clenches his hands on empty air and stares at the stupid, tiny hypothesis of Erik Selvig's that'll most likely destroy them.

In small, curling script, the note says, _"I believe that the energy that the Tesseract is able to release currently is only a fraction of what it is capable of. With the right kind of trigger, it could be possible to release the energy into something that could power—or obliterate—something as large as our solar system."_

The note goes on to talk about possible ways to release some of the energy to power something, but that's old news. These notes were probably made before Fury recruited Selvig to help tap into the Tesseract's energy to make weapons. Either way, Tony's mind is stuck on that one small piece of information—

_Could obliterate something as large as our solar system._

Solar system. What the fuck.

Whoever has the Tesseract right now, whether it's Thanos or Loki or someone else entirely, has obviously figured out how to release enough energy to blow up a skyscraper and a city block. While the bomber may not realize the power that he has, it's unlikely. Which means—

Which means that the bomber is probably planning something a lot worse.

Stark Tower. Project Rebirth. What's next? Or more accurately—who's next? The obvious problem with a teleporter is that they have _no idea_ where the bomber is going to strike next—the only lead they have is that he or she is probably targeting the team. .

"Jarvis, start compiling a list of locations that are significant to the Avengers," he says, sucking in a quick breath and moving his hands back to the holographs.

_"It's generating now, sir."_

"I'll come back to that," Tony says, pushing the matter temporarily out of his mind and turning to SHIELD's files on Loki.

The workshop is mostly silent as he works through the files. There's the ever-present hum of Jarvis that he takes comfort in, and of course Dummy and Butterfingers whirring in the background. But otherwise the cluttered workspace is filled with a hushed quiet.

SHIELD's files on Loki are what he would call… inconclusive. There's surprisingly little information on him, other than detailed accounts of both of his visits. Tony supposes that SHIELD hasn't exactly had time to interview him. The full-body scans of Loki from his time at SHIELD both during the New York event and from the Iowa base are garbled and make no sense. He can only assume that they've been disturbed by the presence of Loki's magic.

Based on SHIELD's records, Loki is still a blind spot in their radar.

Tony discards Loki's files, finding nothing that he doesn't already know. Moving on to his last category of research, he similarly doesn't find anything containing the name 'Thanos.'

As for Chitauri brain parasites, everything he finds is barely credible at best. There's a lot of illegal research on smuggled Chitauri organs, but SHIELD shut down any respectable scientist with alien parts on his hands. The problem with the New York incident (besides the other obvious problems that come with an alien invasion) is that once the Chitauri hive mind collapsed, they left behind corpses and alien tech lying all over the streets. That same day, _boom,_ an alien black market was born.

Clicking rapidly through links, Tony skims over a lot of useless information about what acids will disintegrate Chitauri flesh and what affects the poisonous substance in their saliva have on human anatomy. Gross.

He does find a few sparse sources on bug-like skin parasites that have been found on Chitauri remnants, but nothing as large as the slimy centipede that he coughed up. Tony suspects that the information he needs on the parasite won't be originating from Earth.

Tony sighs heavily through his nose and sits his weight back, flicking the Chitauri pages in to the discard pile with Loki's files. It looks like he won't be solving anything about the parasite or where it came from today.

But that's his personal problem. The thoughts he'd blocked about the bomber start flooding back. _Obliterate the solar system._ It hasn't escaped his notice that all of the locations the bomber has chosen have high amounts of collateral damage. Tony turns to the list of significant Avenger-related places that Jarvis compiled, intending to start researching all of them.

_"Sir, might I suggest getting some food before you start your research?"_ Jarvis says, freezing the holograph screen. Tony checks the time, and shit, he's spent more time down here than he thought.

"Jarvis," Tony protests, jabbing at the traitorous holograph. "This is important. If we don't prevent the next bombing people are going to die." He's already come to the conclusion that there will, in fact, be a third bombing. Better to prepare for the worst in any circumstance.

_"If you will not feed yourself, I am required to warn you that Dr. Banner is approaching."_

Tony hesitates. Bruce is awesome and it's helpful to have his brain to bounce ideas off of, but Bruce will probably try and force food into him before he can work and he just doesn't have the _time._

"Send him away, I'm working," Tony says, because he's a dick.

Just then Bruce comes into the room. "Hey, Tony—"

"Jarvis," Tony growls. "I told you not to let him in."

_"May I remind you that you never specifically stated to 'not let him in,' you only—"_

"Yeah, yeah," Tony grumbles. He eyes Bruce suspiciously. "What do you want?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow at his tone. "I just wanted to know if you're okay."

"Okay?" Tony snorts. "I'm fine and dandy. Peachy-keen. Don't be a mother hen."

Bruce looks unconvinced. "You just had an alien parasite in you, and, from what Steve told me, experienced some pretty powerful hallucinations. Not to mention the fact that you encountered Loki again and that he, ah…" Bruce pauses, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. "'Nearly slit your throat,' I think was the way you put it."

"'Twas but a flesh wound."

Bruce rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot," he says. "Come on; let me at least disinfect it. Who knows where Loki's knife has been. "

"I can do it myself," Tony sulks.

Bruce just gives him the most unimpressed look he's ever seen and starts walking towards the bathroom, Tony following helplessly in his wake.

Pulling the disinfectant out from under the sink, Bruce directs him to sit on the counter. Tony's all too glad to do so, because it puts his back to the mirror. He caught a glimpse of his reflection and had winced. There are purple shadows under his eyes and a couple days' worth of stubble darkening his jaw. He looks tired and haunted.

Tony resolves to clean himself up as he lifts up his chin so Bruce can see. His current expression won't work for the patented "Tony Stark Public Face."

Bruce mutters disapprovingly as he inspects the knife cut, which is kind of deep but not very long, because no matter what Bruce says he's a mother hen to the people he… he cares about. Though Tony doesn't really know how he got put in that circle, he's grateful.

The rubbing alcohol stings slightly, but he doesn't flinch. Bruce seals the cut and steps away, beginning to head out of the bathroom. Tony stands up, intending to inspect Bruce's work, when he notices the Princess Belle Band-Aid covering the cut on his throat.

"Beauty and the Beast? Really?" Tony asks. Bruce is already at the entrance of the workshop.

"You're welcome! Make sure you eat something!" Bruce calls over his shoulder.

"Why do we even have these?" Tony yells at Bruce's retreating back. He doesn't get an answer, though, and the workshop doors close with a hiss, leaving Tony staring at the door in the newly acquired silence. He realizes a beat too late that he never told Bruce about the potential power the Tesseract might hold.

It’s definitely something worth mentioning.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony remembers his promise to clean himself up and starts getting out a razor and shaving cream from the emergency supply he keeps in the workshop. When he lifts his head up to look in the mirror, Loki is watching him.

Tony stifles a surprised squeak and looks in disbelief at him. "Holy shit," he yelps. He whips his head around behind him to check if Loki is actually _in the workshop with him_ , but it seems as though Loki only exists inside the mirror. Tony pokes the glass in the spot where Loki is standing, but he only meets a cold, hard surface.

Loki frowns in Tony's direction, looking troubled. He touches his fingers briefly to the glass, where Tony's finger is, leaving spots of condensation. There's a freezing cold tingle that rushes down Tony's finger and settles in his chest, making him shudder. Loki turns and vanishes in a swirl of leather and green sparks.

"Thanks a lot for that," Tony tells the now empty mirror sarcastically. He's rattled. Is he still hallucinating?

He shaves, gets back the "Billionaire" look and loses the "Homeless Man" look. Tony stares for a moment at the bags under his eyes and decides that the tiredness on his face isn't going away any time soon, not with what's going on.

He checks the inside of his mouth compulsively and ends up brushing his teeth because his breath smells like death. Even after the cleansing mint toothpaste his mouth feels dirty, contaminated by the Chitauri parasite. When he closes his mouth, the faint taste of acidic soil lingers.

Tony doesn't want to deal with the situation in his mirror, but since he's never liked Bloody Mary stories and doesn't want to become a living example of one, he goes to Thor.

He raps on Bruce’s lab door and pokes his head in. “Can I borrow Thor?” He asks, tilting his head. Since Bruce and Steve are the only ones with the capability to take on Thor, he had apparently been assigned to stay with one of them at all times. At least, that was the memo on his comm.

Bruce looks up from the figurine, glasses crooked on his nose. “No problem,” he says, waving a hand. “Don’t be gone for long, though.”

Because they have no idea what Thor is going to do anymore, now that he attacked SHIELD with his maniac of a brother. Tony jerks his head sharply outside in a gesture for Thor to accompany him.

He stands up with the rattling of chains and follows Tony outside, looking strange without his ever-present hammer on his hip. SHIELD was going to transfer it later this week to an adamantium room in the basement of HQ, once it was finished. Thor is radiating a strong aura of agitation and anger, and when he looks up his eyes are dark.

"Greetings, Tony," Thor says. Kind words said in a hard voice. Tony can tell that he's still displeased with SHIELD and with Loki. "What is the meaning of this visit?"

"Hey," Tony says guardedly, rubbing anxious hands on his jeans. He’s acutely aware of the fact that he does not have his suit, but Thor most definitely still has his strength. "I was wondering—could Loki appear in a mirror? Just in the reflection, but not actually be there."

"Loki could make himself invisible yet keep his reflection visible in a mirror," Thor muses, turning his gaze to a panel on the wall. “I know he can project his image over far distances. While I have not seen him appear in a mirror specifically, I imagine that he would be able to do such a thing." Thor looks back at him. "Why?"

"Ah…" Tony shifts uncomfortably, hesitant to give him information about Loki. "He was there. In my mirror just now."

Thor looks surprised, then suspicious. "Tell me, Tony Stark. What have you done to my brother?"

"I haven't done anything," Tony says warily. "Why are you asking me? He's the one who's stalking me."

"Loki has a… fascination with you. I do not understand how, yet, but somehow you are important," Thor says, looking at him narrowly. "He does not give his attention to people lightly."

Tony is—surprised. Mostly unpleasantly surprised. So now the mad mischief god has a fixation on him. He probably doesn't occupy the healthiest living space right now.

"And what do you think he's going to do now?" Tony asks, furrowing his brows. It’s just so easy to forget that Thor isn’t trustworthy, but the black chains on his wrists are a constant reminder. He attacked SHIELD _with Loki._

Thor shakes his head slowly. "I am afraid I do not know. Loki has changed in many ways since he first came to your city." He tilts his head, considering. "And this 'Thanos' you say he has mentioned… I do not like the feel of this. If Loki is wary of him then we all should be."

"This just keeps getting better," Tony mutters.

"Sarcasm has no place here, Tony," Thor rumbles. "Not now, when the situation is so grave."

Tony smiles. "Can't help it," he says flippantly. "It's part of my nature."

He leaves then, giving a short excuse about work he has in the lab, and escapes from Thor's unreadable gaze. He's reminded, suddenly, of how old Thor is, thousands and thousands of years. Long enough to be part of myth. Thor can control some of the goddamned elements. Tony's just a rich, foolish man in a crushable metal suit who thinks he can play with gods.

He doesn't want to go back to the lab. Loki's presence in the mirror is heavy in his mind, and the fact that he can appear in HQ without any warning…

But he's a grown man, and he can't afford to shy away from a reflection. So Tony puts on his big boy pants, smooths out the beginning cracks in his composure, and heads back down.

_"Are you alright, sir?"_ Jarvis says when he walks in. _"You left in quite a hurry."_

"You didn't see that in the mirror, did you," Tony says, sighing. He has a strong suspicion that Loki's magical aura thing kind of screws up technology.

_"I'm afraid not, sir. What exactly did I miss?"_

"Let's go find out," Tony says grimly, and strides over to the bathroom.

An empty mirror sits tauntingly on the wall. Tony is strangely disappointed. He turns to walk back—

A dark blur appears in the mirror, trailing green sparks. Tony looks closer, and fuck, that's _Loki._ Loki is running, turning every once and a while to blast green fire behind him, and this whole depth thing in the mirror is screwing with Tony's head.

Loki, or maybe just Loki's reflection, is getting closer and closer, until suddenly he leaps _through_ the mirror, collapsing past Tony and stumbling as he hits the floor. Tony turns to look behind him in astonishment, but a loud crack like a gunshot emanates from the mirror and he whips his head back around.

The mirror is slowly darkening, black smoke crawling across the glass, and Tony is suddenly struck by familiarity. Déjà vu or something, because he _knows_ he's seen those whirling black clouds before. Whirling black clouds sheathed in a glassy finish.

Tony pushes the thoughts out of his mind, because he can't think about that right now, not when the mirror is going berserk in front of him. The smoke starts swirling even more violently, giving off a dark and angry aura as the lights flicker ominously.

There's another crack, similar a gunshot or a snapping bone, and a small spray of white appears in the center of the mirror like a bullet hole. Tony backs away a few steps, standing next to where Loki is struggling to his feet near the door.

The snapping sounds continue and the white spray starts expanding, sharp fissures slowly spreading over the mirror like a spider web. Tony can see his horrified face reflected brokenly across the jagged pieces. Loki is a dark, shattered shape slightly behind him.

The smoke trapped in the mirror starts leaking out of the cracks, spilling like oil onto the bathroom countertop. Tony can only describe it as _snakelike_ —as if the smoke has a consciousness. The slithering, coiling clouds seem to be hunting something as it takes over the counter in a roiling blanket. A bone-deep fear is keeping his feet glued to the ground and he only watches in numbed horror as the smoke drips down the side of the counter and reaches for his ratty shoes. The closer it gets, the more nauseous he feels, chilled and sweating.

Suddenly, the smoke stops, rearing back as if it's hitting an invisible barrier. A hissing, snarling sound comes from the center of the cloud, but it doesn't come any farther. Instead, it reaches up like tentacles until it's created an entire floor-to-ceiling wall. Tony stares, dazed with shock, as Loki stands up and starts staggering forward.

The wall of smoke concaves as Loki limps closer and closer, as if he has an invisible shield around him that forces it away. Sluggishly, the black swirling mass starts to retreat unwillingly, hissing as it goes.

Loki forces the smoke away, back towards the mirror. It starts curling in on itself, writhing and twisting like grasping claws. Slowly it starts forcing itself back through the cracks in the mirror. It looks disgusting, as though someone played a clip of vomiting backwards. The smoke starts congealing into an almost sludgy substance as it clumps back into the cracks.

The substance hisses one last time and disappears back into the fissures in the mirror. With another crack, the mirror shatters into jagged pieces on the countertop, leaving a blank, empty wall behind it. Tony stares at it uncomprehendingly. His feet won't move from where they're rooted in the concrete.

Loki collapses once again after the mirror shatters, his leg buckling and sweat beading on his pale forehead. Tony unfreezes enough to stoop down, grasping Loki's wrist to feel his pulse.

Loki makes an annoyed sound and feebly tries to pull his hand away, but Tony ignores him and presses his fingers down hard. Loki's pulse is too fast, almost feverish, and when Tony looks back at his face he can see his eyes are bloodshot and dazed.

Thundering footsteps sound behind him and in a few seconds Thor bursts into the room, fists raised in the absence of Mjolnir.

"What is the nature of this?" He roars.

Tony stands up, shaky on his feet. What the hell was that? He holds his hands out in a placating gesture. "Hold on, Thor," Tony yells cautiously, hoping that he won't be bowled over.

"I sensed dark magic here," Thor growls. His nostrils flare and his face is tense and angry. "And I would like to know," Thor spits, advancing. "Why you are here." He directs his last question at Loki.

Loki sits up, struggling. "I don't have…" He wheezes, clenching the counter in a white-knuckled grip. "To explain… myself to you."

Thor looks ready to kill someone. Ah, crap.

"Look, Thor," Tony intervenes hastily. "Loki didn't create the… dark magic, or whatever you call it. He came through the mirror and something came in after him. He forced it back in and the mirror shattered." He doesn't know why he's defending Loki, their enemy who has screwed things up for them at every turn. He's probably going insane.

It doesn't look like Loki knows what to make of it either. He looks faintly surprised before he hardens his gaze once again and glares defiantly at Thor.

Thor, for his part, still looks suspicious. He closes the distance between him and Tony in one long stride and grips Tony's jaw in a calloused hand. He stares searchingly into Tony's eyes for a second, and gives a short nod before stepping away, apparently satisfied.

Thor then heads over to the bathroom counter, intending to pick up one of the pieces of the mirror. The second Thor's outstretched hand gets close to the nearest shard, he recoils, pulling his hand back as if burned.

"What is it?" Tony asks warily.

"These pieces reek of darkness," Thor says grimly. "Do not touch them," he says sharply as Tony reaches out for the shards, grabbing Tony's wrist roughly and yanking him back. "They carry an ancient poison. Loki would have done well to warn you of this." Thor glowers at Loki's still hunched-over form where he's still gripping the counter.

Loki sneers. "Excuse me if I didn't have enough time or energy to cast a purifying spell when I was _forcing it back_ into the portal from whence it came," he snaps.

The tension in the air is so thick Tony could cut it with a knife. No, scratch that. It's so thick he'd need a goddamned _saw_ to get through it.

The uncomfortable moment is shattered when Steve, Natasha, Bruce, and Clint burst in with widened eyes.

"Hey," Tony says, dashing out of the bathroom to intercept their path. "Look, guys—"

"Tony," Steve says dismally and his eyes are so _wet—_

"Culver University and Budapest were both just bombed."


	9. Chapter 9

Tony goes out and gets drunk.

He knows it’s a stupid idea. And he doesn’t really give a shit.

The universe obviously hates him. After the breaking the news of the bombings, he then had to explain the whole Loki situation, which was a disaster. Clint and Bruce had nearly murdered Loki before Tony got a chance to get a word in edgewise, and even then Bruce was appearing dangerously green. Natasha looked wanted to strangle Tony. Steve looked haggard and weary and even now the mood at the house is just shy of genocide.

Everyone is cracking, slowly, and Tony doesn’t want to know who’ll be the first to snap. Whoever the bomber is wants to torture them psychologically, not physically. Though with what he found out about the Tesseract and its capabilities, it could only be a matter of time.

There were too many deaths today.

Betty Ross was among them. Bruce had nearly destroyed all of HQ before Thor was able to subdue him, and by that point the anger had turned to overwhelming grief. Bruce had gone into his room and they hadn’t seen him since. Tony didn’t know if he was still even in the building.

Natasha and Clint had both lost a man whose name they wouldn’t mention when the safe house in Budapest was blown up. He doesn’t know the story behind that, but it had turned both of their faces to stone when they got the call, and he hasn’t seen either of them since they vanished into the gym. Their team is splitting, driven apart by rage and grief, and the mood inside HQ feels like a battleground.

Tony feels as though he’s held together with fragile, breakable ties and the smallest thread of sanity.

And, of course, what does Tony Stark do when he’s feeling especially breakable?

That’s right.

Something stupid.

That’s why Tony’s in the back room of some shitty bar, drunk out of his mind and pinned against the wall while some hot blonde grinds against him. He knows it’s a bad idea, but she’s there and she’s warm and it feels _good_ so Tony doesn’t stop.

It’s not until she’s unbuttoning his pants and pulling down the zipper when he realizes something’s wrong. She looks up at him, a feral smile on her lips and a promise in her green eyes, and he thinks, _this_ _isn’t right_.

“What’s the matter, sugar?” She asks, sultrily looking up at him from under her lashes. Her long blond hair is spilling over her shoulders, contrasting sharply with the emerald sheath dress she has clinging to her curves. A gold chain that disappears into her cleavage gleams in the dim light.

There’s something dribbling out of the side of her red-lipped grin.

It’s purple.

Tony stumbles back as he remembers with horrifying clarity what this is. The numb bliss of alcohol he felt before is replaced with unwelcome sobriety, and the woman starts convulsing in front of him, purple liquid coating her lips and dripping down her chin. Her eyes roll back, slivers of white in her face, and she chokes and gasps. Tony is shaking as he tries inadequately to help, and _god, he isn’t certified for this_.

There’s blood now mixed with the purple liquid, and no, this isn’t right, this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to have ties to the shit he was trying to escape.

She gives a shuddering gasp, her mouth stained with purple and red, and goes limp.

“No, no, no, no,” Tony mutters, frantically trying to find a pulse under her jawline. “No, come on, this isn’t happening—”

He can’t find a pulse.

Tony could perform CPR when he was eight and he can do it now. He places shaky hands over her chest and starts doing compressions, all the way up to 30. He tilts her head back, opening her mouth, and pinches her nose to exhale two long breaths that make her chest rise and fall artificially. He tastes blood and acidic soil on his tongue and fights the urge to vomit.

More compressions and more breaths. He repeats the cycle four more times and checks for a pulse.

Nothing.

Tony tries again, and again, and each time it fails. Finally he stops, his breath rattling in his chest like a taunt to the still woman in front of him. She was coughing up purple liquid and now she’s dead. He needs to do something.

He calls Steve. The only rock left in their shattering team.

“Tony? What’s going on?”

“Steve,” Tony whispers. This is so fucked up. He’s sitting with a dead woman in the back of a shitty bar with people dancing to trashy pop not even six feet away from him, oblivious.

“Hey—Tony? Are you okay?”

“Steve,” Tony repeats. He’s gone into another numb stage of shock. It feels as though he’s watching himself from the outside. He hears himself tell the location of the bar he’s in, that there’s a dead woman and that Steve can’t alert the authorities. Not yet.

Tony comes back to himself when Steve, Thor, and Loki burst into the room. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut when he looks for Bruce or Clint or Natasha and sees empty space.

“Are you—“ Steve cuts himself off, instead just casting a worrying glance in his direction. Good man. Tony doesn’t want to talk about himself at all right now. Steve stands reassuringly by Tony’s shoulder instead and stares down at the body.

Thor hangs towards the back of the room, seeming to not want to leave Loki’s side. Loki, for his part, hasn’t even looked in their direction and is idly examining his polished, black fingernails. Even though Loki is the picture of haughtiness, there’s still a grey cast to his features.

“Tony, what happened?” Steve asks, hushed. As if in _respect_. Tony is suddenly, irrationally angry. He didn’t know the woman, barely talked to her, but life isn’t fair and he’s so tired of all of this shit happening. There isn’t a shred of respect in this room, not from the blood staining the woman’s teeth, not in her gold-polished fingernails brushing the floor, and certainly not in him.

“She was—” Tony cuts himself off, nearly choking on the words. “Something started coming out of her mouth. I—it’s like when I puked up the parasite. She collapsed and I performed CPR but nothing happened. She’s dead.” Tony delivers it in a purposely-detached manner and Steve gives him an unreadable look. Compartmentalizing.

Loki, who’s head snaps up when he hears the word “parasite,” pushes Tony out of the way as he goes by and Tony stumbles. There’s a curse on his lips but he holds his tongue, because Loki’s already pale complexion has whitened even further as he examines the body.

“What—“ Thor starts to ask as he comes closer, before cutting himself with a small noise of recognition.

Loki looks up, and there’s something slightly frenzied in his eyes. “I know this woman,” he says.

“Aye,” Thor says, subdued.

Steve gives Loki a questioning glance. “And?”

“Her name is Amora,” Loki breathes, staring down at her heart-shaped face like he wants to dissect it. “Amora the Enchantress.”

“How do you know her?” Steve asks dubiously.

Loki tilts his head, a wry smirk curling up the corners of his mouth. Tony can’t look away. “She had a… fixation with Thor. More like an obsession, truly.”

A fixation. Like Thor said Loki had with Tony. Does Loki really have a fascination with him? Somehow, Tony can’t imagine him having an obsession with anything he didn’t want to use.

“And—“ Loki continues, “She was an enchantress. One of the more powerful and, in actuality, more bothersome ones. We were… rivals, I suppose you could say.”

“I do not understand why she would appear here,” Thor says somberly. “She loathed Midgard and its inhabitants.”

Loki looks haughty and aloof, but the woman’s—Amora’s, Tony corrects—body seems to bother him. He swipes two fingers into the liquids staining the area around her mouth and holds them up, the red-purple mixture looking black against his fingers.

“Your answer,” Loki says, staring down at the body with a brooding look on his face, “is another Chitauri paras—“

Loki cuts himself off. “There’s something here,” he hisses, searching in what looks like empty air next to Amora’s hips. Loki plunges his hand down, like he’s going to punch the ground, but instead it disappears into empty air.

“A dimensional pocket,” Thor explains in a low voice to Steve and Tony’s disbelieving looks. In the wake of the woman’s corpse on the floor it’s easy to forget that they were fighting against Thor only recently. “It allows her to hide things from visual eyes and, indeed, out of this dimension, yet keep it close enough to reach.”

“Hush,” Loki growls, looking as though he’s attempting to grasp something. His arm just… disappears at the elbow.  Tony blinks his eyes rapidly to make sure he’s not seeing things.

They all fall silent, the booming of the bass throbbing in the background like a heartbeat.

Loki gives a grunt of pain, his face pulling into a grimace. He withdraws his hand, which is smoking and blistered and strangely… blue? Tony squints to get a better look in the dim light, but the burn marks fade in an instant back to smooth white skin.

Loki, for his part, lets out a long and probably obscene string in what Tony presumes is the Asgardian language.

“I felt it,” Loki says irritably. He looks put off and almost… hungry. “The Tesseract. It was there.”

“What?” Steve says disbelievingly. “Where is it?”

Loki turns a disdainful gaze on him. “I do not know, _Captain_ ,” he says sarcastically. “It was whisked out of my grasp the second I touched it.”

“Is that even possible?” Tony wonders aloud.

Loki scowls. “I would not normally assume so, considering the point of a ‘dimensional pocket’ as Thor so elegantly put it, is to keep it out of prying eyes. Yet, after today’s events, it is evidently so.”

Tony is… doubtful, to say the least. “So you’re saying that this woman—Amora—had the Tesseract with her this whole time?”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps she is your bomber.”

Back up. Wait a second.

This random Asgardian woman, Amora the Sorceress or whatever, is the bomber? What about Thanos?

“But—“ Tony frowns. Something is off, not quite in place.

Steve, unnoticed by Tony, has crouched down next to the body and Loki. From this angle Tony can see the gun that Steve must have tucked hurriedly into the back of his pants. Steve motions to her face, a furrow between his brows.

“But, Tony—look at this, around her mouth. You said it was like the Chitauri parasite, but this looks like blood to me.”

“I coughed up blood too,” Tony says. He still doesn’t want to dwell on the Chitauri parasite that was inside his head. SHIELD is probably analyzing it in a lab somewhere; he should get it back. “Just, not that much. And she didn’t actually cough out a parasite.”

Loki looks thoughtful and holds two hands facing palm-down above Amora’s prone figure. “No, she did not expel it from her system,” he murmurs. “It is still trapped. Dead, now,” he adds.

“I don’t get how the parasite even fucking works. It shouldn’t be _possible_ ,” Tony says furiously. He hates it, hates the vileness of it and the way it got inside his head and left him so vulnerable without him even knowing of its presence.

“The parasite inserts itself next to the spine,” Loki says in surprisingly helpful explanation, indicating along the back of Amora’s corpse. “It reaches up to the base of the brain. There is where the creature’s ‘head’ lies. The antennae are long enough and thin enough to interact with parts of the brain. I have not seen many in my travels, yet…” Loki moves next to Steve, grabbing Amora’s face and turning it from side to side to inspect her jaw. He frowns, and pries open her mouth to stare down the dark tunnel of her throat. “To my knowledge, the parasite expels itself as a form of self-defense, though there could be other triggers. It escapes from its position next to the spine by puncturing a hole in one of the lungs and traveling up the trachea.

“Evidently,” Loki says, now inspecting the cold column of Amora’s neck, “This method can be hazardous to the parasite as well. This particular specimen didn’t make it out in time.”

“The problem,” Steve says, standing up and creating more space between him and Loki, “Is that with the parasite, she may not be accountable for her actions. It can cause loss of control, right? We don’t even know if she is the bomber, but if she was, then we have a dead body that can’t tell us whether she committed the crime knowingly.”

“She possessed the Tesseract,” Thor growls. “That is enough to implicate her. She kept a weapon from Asgard.”

Tony tilts his head. “There’s nothing we can do here,” he points out harshly. “Unless one of you people have something up your sleeve, the body is of no use to us. She can’t help us find anything.”

Loki turns his head to stare narrowly at Tony. “I agree,” he says. “We should go.”

Tony is surprised, and, looking at Steve’s and Thor’s faces, he’s not the only one. Loki stands up, and Tony sees him do… _something_ with his hands, but when he blinks Loki’s hands are empty by his sides.

Tony blinks again, hard, and tells himself to stop seeing things that aren’t there. Pushing it out of his mind, he wrinkles his nose and says, "Call SHIELD?" In a disgusted sort of voice to Steve.

Steve nods, resigned, but it’s a dead body, after all. They aren’t really cleared to perform autopsies and the like.

While Steve dials in the call to SHIELD, Tony watches Thor and Loki. Thor has shifted closer to the dark-haired god, and whether it’s to protect him or stop him is anyone’s guess. Loki, on the other hand, is watching the proceedings with a pleased look on his face. Tony makes a mental note to keep an eye on him. He doesn’t trust Loki at all.

Tony hears Steve in the background, giving Fury the short and succinct version of events—an Asgardian woman died and she may have had the same parasite Tony did. He notices with grim amusement that Steve doesn’t mention the Tesseract at all.

They realize in dismay right as the SHIELD agents are pulling up that SHIELD doesn’t know that Loki came to HQ, and as far Fury knows, Loki is roaming the cosmos causing mayhem elsewhere.

Steve hisses at Loki and Thor to leave out back and meet them somewhere while Steve and Tony get the car. In answer to that, Loki just raises his eyebrows. He wiggles his fingers and mouths, “toodles” to all of them and proceeds to simply… fade away.

Which is great and all for getting back to the car unnoticed, but once they actually reach the SHIELD branded vehicle, they realize they have no idea where Loki actually is. For all they know, he’s roaming the streets of New York now that he gave them the slip.

Tony is going to _murder_ Loki.

“Well, this sucks,” he says. Steve and Thor are standing at the curb looking lost. Yeah. This is not one of Tony’s better days.

The window of the SHIELD car rolls down, startling him. What looks like a suddenly visible icy green substance burns away to reveal Loki, his arms crossed lazily over the window.

“I thought you three were in a bit of a hurry?” he drawls, a smug look on his face.

Steve and Thor just give him stony looks and move to get in the car in silence. Tony stares, trying to solve the enigma that is Loki. He’s confused. He wants to know why Loki keeps coming back.

Loki locks eyes with him and something twists his mouth strangely. He sits back inside the car, rolling the window back up, and Tony opens the passenger door in front of him and slides inside. This will be interesting.

 


	10. Chapter 10

The atmosphere inside the car is brittle with tension. Steve and Tony don’t want to talk with Loki sitting in the car behind them, and _something_ happened between Thor and Loki when he received the Allfather’s sentence.

So the resulting ride is one Tony would like to repeat… _never_ , thanks. Steve keeps shooting warning—or maybe concerned—glances at him during the whole ride and he can feel Loki’s eyes boring into the back of his neck.

When the four of them get back to HQ they all practically leap out of the car, except for Loki, who gets out leisurely as if he has all the time in the world. Of course.

As they’re walking out of the garage, into the main part of headquarters, Jarvis beeps out the code to inform Tony he has a message waiting. Tony nods shortly and glances at Loki out of the corner of his eye. Wouldn’t do to have one of their biggest enemies learning something he shouldn’t.

Judging by Loki’s narrowing eyes, he knows something’s up. Tony doesn’t really care, though, because once they reach the main floor Thor steers Loki away from Steve and Tony to go to… who knows where. It’s Thor’s problem now, though, and Tony made sure to lock down anything important when Loki first came through the mirror. He doubts that it’ll stop Loki if he really wants to get into something, but he hasn’t had enough time to get into “magic-proofing” yet.

Tony tilts his head to motion Steve away from where Thor and Loki are walking away down the hall.

“Come on,” he says in a low voice. “Don’t want any eavesdropping.”

They end up going back down to the shooting range, because it’s soundproofed. Tony doesn’t know how good Loki and Thor’s ears are and he doesn’t want to take any risks. Better safe than sorry is not Tony’s usual motto, but so much weird things have been going on lately.

“Okay, Jarvis, what’s the message?”

“ _I regret to inform you that Dr. Banner, Agent Romanoff, and Agent Barton are no longer within the premises._ ”

Steve’s face tightens minutely and Tony closes his eyes in frustration and disappointment.

“Did you try reaching them?” Tony asks as normally as he can manage. He blinks his eyes back open and stares at the battered targets.

“ _I did. They seem to have turned off their communicators_.”

Shit. If they turned off their communicators that means it’s pretty bad. It also means that Jarvis can’t track them, because if they’ve turned off their communicators that means they’ve dumped their phones, too. Bruce, Clint, and Natasha are smart, too smart to slip up like that.

“Okay,” Steve says, resignation in his eyes. “Okay,” he repeats. “We’ll just have… to wait, then.” He turns towards the shooting range door. “I’m going to go check on Thor and Loki,” he says over his shoulder as he leaves, before the door closes softly behind him.

Tony is left standing in the middle of the shooting range, the smell of gunpowder still lingering in the air and the bitter taste of betrayal in his throat.

It’s not until he’s back in the workshop staring blankly at a glass of scotch that he realizes he’s _angry_.

Maybe that’s too harsh of him, maybe he’s being too cruel, but Tony never played fair anyways. He’s angry that Bruce and Clint and Natasha have all left without explanation after the bombings. Tony knows how much damage has been caused, feels the heavy weight of not _doing_ anything on his shoulders, but he didn’t up and leave when Stark Tower was destroyed. Steve didn’t leave when the Project Rebirth block was blown up.

Tony knows that Bruce is devastated at Betty Ross’ death. He knows that Clint and Natasha were close with the man in Budapest in a way that’s not common with them. Tony doesn’t _blame_ them, because he understands, and he probably would have done the same if it had happened to Pepper.

He’s just angry that they left without a note, without a call, that they left Steve and him floundering in a shattered team. It’s just the two of them holding down the fort that may blow up from the inside, what with Loki and Thor being here and all.

Maybe Tony has abandonment issues.

Fuck.

He may put on the patented Tony-Stark-Smile and act like he’s on top of the world, but in reality he has no fucking idea what he’s doing. He’s flying blind 24/7. Tony knocks down the glass of scotch with a sigh, the liquid burning his throat, and resolves to figure out at least one of his many problems.

He ends up asking Jarvis where Loki is, because he doesn’t really know where exactly Thor led him once they got back from the whole mess with Amora. It turns out he’s in one of the rooms across from Thor’s, which doesn’t surprise Tony—Thor likes to keep his brother close. What does surprise him, though, is that Loki is alone.

When he walks in, Loki is sitting cross-legged on the high bed, which puts him almost at eye-level with Tony. A pair of handcuffs that are obviously Asgardian in make are clamped tight on Loki’s wrists, which are held loosely in front of him. Runes and strange characters twine in lines over the thick golden braces. Hmm. So Thor doesn’t trust Loki that much.

Tony finds himself wondering again what happened in Asgard between the two brothers.

“Anthony,” Loki says. “What is the purpose of this visit?” Loki sounds… exhausted. He holds himself gingerly, and Tony is struck by the memory of Loki’s collapsed form on the bathroom floor. He’s paler than usual and his emerald eyes seem to be leeched of color to resemble near-transparent glass.

Tony doesn’t trust Loki. He’s not going to blindly believe that Loki is as hurt as he looks.

“I want to know why you’re still here.”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “That’s your question,” he says disbelievingly. “Not anything about Amora the Enchantress, the ‘bomber,’ nor Thanos, nor anything about the Chitauri parasite. I cannot decide if you are strange or foolish.”

Tony crosses his arms. “Are you offering information on any of those?”

Loki tilts his head. “Perhaps,” he smirks humorlessly. “Perhaps I am. Yet why would you trust my information?”

“Why would I, indeed,” Tony mutters darkly.

“I’ll tell you why,” Loki snarls, his previous good cheer disappearing in a flash. He stands up, towering over Tony. Are all Asgardians tall or is it just Thor and Loki?

“You will listen to, if not trust, the words I speak, because you have no other choice. As loathe as you are to admit it, I am the only one who has given you a glimpse into this mad dance that you have no part of!”

Tony realizes dully that Loki’s telling the truth. Information about the Chitauri parasite, Thanos, Amora—okay, maybe Thor could have figured that out on his own, but the point is, Loki’s been giving them info on this whole mess.

One of Loki’s titles is the Liesmith. Tony has to remember that.

In a flash, Loki is standing in front of him and gripping Tony’s face in his shackled hands. The thick metal band that connects the two cuffs cuts into the skin under his jaw and he swallows gingerly.

“But,” Loki whispers, and his eyes are so green next to the dark hollows of his eye sockets. “You owe me a life debt. Do not forget it.”

Loki releases his hands from Tony’s temples and steps back. “Ask away,” he says, dipping his head sarcastically.

Tony releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and reminds himself that he came here with a purpose. “Tell me why you’re still here.”

Loki purses his lips in amusement. “Perhaps I like it here.”

“Perhaps you don’t,” Tony says with a hardened gaze. “Perhaps you’re playing all of us.”

“Perhaps I am,” Loki says, and laughs. “You are indeed catching on quick, Anthony.”

“Tell me why you are still here,” Tony repeats. “Are you still recovering from injuries? Are you planning to destroy my team? Or are you just here,” Tony hisses, “To be a _nuisance_?”

Loki bristles slightly at the mention of injuries. So that’s part of the reason, at least. His face smooths over quickly, though, and he looks as unreadable as always. “If I was planning to destroy your team, I wouldn’t tell you, would I?”

“That doesn’t rule out the ‘nuisance’ part.”

“How about this,” Loki says, a jagged smirk stealing over his face. “I will tell you why I am here if you,” he gestures towards Tony’s chest. “Tell me about _that_.”

Tony looks down to see the dim, ever-present light of the arc reactor shining through his shirt. He looks up at Loki, and his gaze is as cold as ice.

“Sorry, Lokes. Not a chance in hell.”

“Hell can be very persuasive,” Loki purrs. “But I digress. I am afraid,” and he doesn’t sound afraid at all, “That is the only information I will exchange for. My apologies.” Loki gives a sly smile and turns his back. “Inform me if you choose to reconsider my offer.”

Tony stares at him for a moment and leaves in silence. He won’t trade information about the arc reactor for anything. Nick Fury should know that; he’s asked multiple times. If Loki won’t tell him outright why he’s sticking around, he’ll have to find him another way.

He ends up going down to the workshop again and trying to find anything he can on Amora the Enchantress. AC/DC pours from the speakers and he hums along softly as he researches. There isn’t anything in SHIELD databases, though, and nothing in the Norse myths either. Amora is a dead end.

Tony remembers the Tesseract—how could he forget, it’s been lurking in the back of his mind since they found Amora—and calls Erik Selvig. He gets no response and leaves a message before calling Jane.

She tells him that after New York, Selvig vanished. He’d been giving them calls occasionally, but that he’s been “on to something” and most likely in the Canada-Alaska region. Tony feels like an ass for not asking about him earlier. Never the less, Selvig is unreachable and Tony still has nothing useful. He sees the list of Avenger-significant locations that Jarvis pulled up a while ago and thinks bitterly that it’s too little, too late.

By the time that morning comes, he’s exhausted and still drawing a blank.

His useless messing around gets interrupted by Jarvis and a security feed.

_"Sir, Dr. Banner has just arrived."_


	11. Chapter 11

Pure relief envelopes him before he realizes that even though Bruce is back, that doesn’t mean the team is fixed. Tony knows that Bruce is angry and bitter and sad, and that Betty Ross was an idea Bruce clung to for years after they parted.

He rushes up anyways, because he won’t abandon Bruce, not now.

Steve is already up there, twisting his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Bruce stands awkwardly in the wide, sky lit entrance hall with a large, grey duffel slung over his shoulder.

"Hey-o, Brucey," Tony says, maybe a bit more guardedly than usual.

"Hey," Bruce replies. His voice cracks a little and he coughs. "Hey," he tries again.

"Bruce," Steve says, looking lost. "Where were you?"

Bruce shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Tony waits. "I went back to Culver," he says finally. Something in his gaze resolves and he speaks the next words in a firm voice, looking first at Steve and then Tony straight in the eye. "Don’t look at me like that. You know I had to. You would have done the same."

"I would have left a note," Tony points out. "Or called. Not left Jarvis to explain that you suddenly vanished."

Bruce winces. "I’ll admit that wasn’t one of my finer moments," he says, regret bleeding into the corners of his voice. "But look," he says hurriedly, pulling the bag off over his shoulder and kneeling down next to it on the floor, "While I was there I found something. It’s, well, mildly disturbing, yeah, but..."

Bruce unzips the duffel with haste, fingers fumbling slightly. He digs around inside the bag before pulling out an old shirt that’s been bundled up into a ball.

"You said you found a Captain America figurine, the same prototype toy you gave Steve," Bruce says, looking up at Tony. God, he knows what’s coming next and feels sick.

Bruce unwraps the faded maroon shirt and holds up the prototype Hulk doll with the screwed up face. Tony remembers the message he wrote and if he squints he can see his messy writing on one miniature bicep—

Except there is no screwed up face, because the head’s been blown clean off.

"Looks like Amora was very symbolic," Steve says with a pinched look on his face.

"Amora?" Bruce and Tony ask at the same time.

Steve looks surprised. "Yeah, Amora," he says. "I thought we decided—"

"No, _Loki_ decided that she was the bomber," Tony snaps, Loki’s snide remarks from a few moments ago stinging slightly in his memory. "Just because she had the Tesseract doesn’t mean that she actually attacked all of the locations. Remember the parasite?"

Bruce looks increasingly confused. "I have a feeling I’m missing something here," he says bemusedly. “Who’s Amora?”

Steve turns back to him, slightly startled.

“Right,” he says. “Sorry.” Steve proceeds to fill Bruce in on the whole clusterfuck with Amora and the parasite while Tony waits impatiently, his thoughts wandering to the shackled god in his house. Tony can’t be relying on Loki to give him information, not when he can’t trust him.

Bruce’s expression darkens as Steve explains further. When Steve finally reaches the end of his summary, Bruce runs a hand over his tired face, pushing up his glasses to scrub at his eyes. “So you’re saying that this woman had the Tesseract and that she’s probably the bomber, but that she had the parasite so she may not actually be our culprit?” He asks incredulously.

Loki chooses that moment to stride in regally, his long leather duster billowing around his feet and a knowing expression in his eyes. “Oh, no, Dr. Banner. I can tell you for certain that she is indeed your bomber,” he says.

Bruce’s face tightens. “Loki,” he says guardedly.

Loki grins, a smile that’s all teeth and no joy. “Yes. Me,” he says, and bows as grandly as he can with his hands shackled in front of him. He lifts his head and smirks. “At your service.”

A muscle twitches in Bruce’s jaw and his eyes look faintly green, but he looks away without comment.

“So!” Loki says, mock cheerfully, snapping his fingers. “Let us get—what is that saying?–down to business. Amora the Enchantress is, despite your skepticism, your bomber.”

“How do you know?” Steve asks skeptically.

Loki opens his fist, and lying on his palm is a coiled gold chain with a vial of green, swirling liquid hanging as a charm from it. Tony closes his eyes, marveling at his own stupidity, because he _recognizes_ that necklace. Saw it hanging from Amora’s throat that night— _was it only a few hours ago?_ —and remembers Loki investigating her neck, her jaw, her mouth. And he saw him _do something with his hands_ when he stood up…

“You did not find anything on your metal suit’s figurine,” he says, looking at Tony. “I am fairly certain that you will find nothing on the one of the green monster, either. However…” Loki pauses, smirking, and Tony can tell that he’s so very, very smug about making them wait for answers. “If you did, it would lead you to this possession of hers.”

“And what, it led you?” Steve says, folding his arms.

“Oh yes,” Loki says, not hiding his sharp smile. “The Captain’s toy that you found turned out to be quite useful,” he says, looking at Tony.

“How the hell did you use that?” Tony asks.

Loki waves his hand in a dismissing gesture. “A simple tracking spell. It should have been child’s play, yet…. something was interfering. I wonder what—or _who—_ that was?” he says slyly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony growls. It’s disconcerting, the way Loki throws a theatrical performance for Bruce and Steve, complete with snarky humor and disarming smiles, when only a few hours before with Tony he was snarling.

Loki stares at him for a long moment before his eyes slide back to Steve and Bruce. “No, indeed,” he murmurs under his breath, in a voice so low that Tony can barely hear it. Steve catches the message clearly, though, and throws a sharp glance up at Tony. Right. Super-soldier hearing.

Raising his voice, Loki adds, “I was tracking Amora’s touch from the souvenirs you found. However, I believe that the Tesseract muddled my magic. I could not discern who placed the figures before seeing her body in person.”

Steve still looks unimpressed. “I’m not understanding how this helps us.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, Captain,” Loki says condescendingly. “However, I would expect better of you two,” he says, motioning to Bruce and Tony, a strange bitterness creeping into his voice. “The brains of the operation… or so I am told.”

Tony shakes his head slightly, a small, sardonic smile on his lips. “Sorry. You lost me.”

“Why,” Loki says with a quiet laugh and a razor grin, “You all have quite a mess on your hands, do you not?

“You see, Amora was the bomber, but she was not the _culprit_. Chitauri brain parasites can be forcibly implanted, as I believe was the case with you, Anthony, and Amora. So you were _both_ forced into seeing and doing something, by the same rare and deadly method. What a coincidence. Could it even be by the same person? Oh, my goodness. I _do_ hope that’s not the case.” Loki grins. “And while the parasites are extremely intelligent, they couldn’t plan something as complex as this without a master.”

Steve narrows his eyes at Loki, both in reaction of his condescending tone and the content of his words. Tony doesn’t know how Steve manages to stay so calm, because he knows for a fact that his stomach is roiling.

“I didn’t know Chitauri parasites could have masters,” Steve says in a hard voice. He turns to Bruce. “It seems as though he’s introducing new information all the time, doesn’t it?”

Bruce nods, his eyes never leaving Loki. “Quite,” he says calmly.

Loki’s smile flickers for a split second before he regains composure of himself. “Not new,” he says, steel lining underneath his words. “Consider the fact that you may just be ignorant. Even you, _Captain Rogers_ , in all your years you would be a mere infant to the Aesir.” He shifts, the metal of his handcuffs clinking. “As for the Chitauri, they operate on a hive mind. They are mindless thugs, hired mercenaries only following their masters’ orders. The parasite is intelligent enough that, if a higher-thinking organism desired, it could establish contact through the hive mind. Rather like training an animal.”

“So you’re saying that the guy orchestrating the bombings is a _Chitauri?_ ” Tony asks dubiously.

Loki stares at him thoughtfully. “Would it be so strange if it was?”

“Yes,” Tony growls. “We _blew them up._ With a _nuclear missile._ I put it in there myself.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. Spare me from the flaw of human arrogance. What you destroyed was merely a sector, nothing more. The Chitauri are mercenaries, and they have spread gradually across the cosmos. The ones that attacked Midgard were under employment. While that sector was destroyed, many still remain.”

He looks away, past Bruce’s shoulder and down the hall. “Yet even so, the answer to your question is no. The culprit does not have to be a Chitauri. Anyone capable of telepathic thought should be able to make contact with a parasite if they are powerful enough.

“Now,” Loki murmurs, and there’s something far off and distant in his gaze, as if he’s not quite there with them in the wide entrance hall. “If you must excuse me. I have some… pressing matters to attend to.”

“Hey, wait—“ Tony says, but Loki is gone. He didn’t teleport; he was just… fast. Tony drops down his arm, which he hadn’t known he’d outstretched, and turns back to Steve and Bruce.

“What kind of ‘pressing matters’ could he possibly have when he’s handcuffed in enemy headquarters?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Tony mutters. “Jarvis, what’s Loki doing right now?”

“ _Mr. Laufeyson is currently on the roof, sir. He does not appear to be doing much of anything at the moment,_ ” Jarvis replies smoothly.

Tony tilts his head. “Huh,” he says. He flicks his gaze back to Steve. “I don’t trust him. At all. I’m willing to let this,” he makes a wide, vague gesture with his hands, “happen for now only because he’s given us so much information and Thor would probably murder me otherwise, but one finger on any of my systems and I want him locked up and sent back to SHIELD.”

“Agreed,” Steve says instantly, nodding. “Don’t allow Ms. Potts or Dr. Foster in HQ right now, either.”

“I’ll message them,” Tony says, already making plans of what he’s going to do. “Also, guys?”

“Hmm?” Bruce says, busy with something in his duffel.

“Don’t forget to check on him once in a while in person,” Tony says lowly. “Scans from SHIELD, security tapes… they don’t really _work_ on him. I wouldn’t put it past him to disable you or something, Jarv,” he says uneasily. “No offense.”

_“None taken, sir_.”

After his little spiel, Bruce and Steve look…well, concerned would be an understatement. They both know how much Tony takes pride in his tech and especially Jarvis. For him to admit that Loki might get the better of Jarvis is discouraging, to say the least.

“Right,” Steve says. “I’ll get Thor to keep an eye on him, too.”

“He can’t trust Loki that much if he put those manacles on him,” Bruce says, re-slinging the duffel bag on his shoulder.

“They’re Asgardian in make,” Tony says, and smirks to cover up his anxiousness. “Maybe that’s what they do with all the naughty little boys.”

Tony kinda expects to get smote after that comment, but after an intake of breath from Steve and an anticipatory silence, nothing happens.

“Yeah, that may not have been the best timing,” Tony says under his breath. “Come on, Bruce, dump your stuff and get down to the workshop. I have something you should look at.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him, but comes down with him to the workshop. Tony notices that he doesn’t let go of the duffel he’s clutching and wonders if it has something to do with their recently acquired houseguest with a fondness for leather.

“So what did you want to show me?” Bruce asks finally when they reach the workshop.

Tony shifts uneasily and darts over to the area that still has his attempted research on Amora the Enchantress spread out in a wall, Bruce trailing behind him. He clears the pages with a wave of his hand and starts pulling up Erik Selvig’s Tesseract files frantically.

“Look at this,” Tony says, enlarging the tiny note in the margins with his fingers.

“God,” Bruce whispers, leaning forward to stare at the note. Blue light reflects softly off his face and glints on the rims of his glasses.

“I was reviewing SHIELD’s files and looking at the Tesseract weapon logs. I found out that the amount of energy that their scientists were able to extract is nowhere _near_ what would be needed to destroy something as big as Stark Tower,” Tony says lowly. “Amora, if it really was her, managed to tap into previously untouched energy stored within it.”

“Which means that—“ Bruce turns to him, his face draining. “She could do this. _Obliterate the solar system_ , or whatever Selvig called it. And even though she’s dead, the whole thing with the parasite—“

“Means that whoever started all of this could still come back and finish it,” Tony concludes. “But we still don’t know what the hell they’re doing. We don’t know motivations, we don’t know if or when they’re going to do anything, hell, we don’t even know who they _are_.”

“There isn’t much to go off of, Tony,” Bruce murmurs, turning back to Selvig’s notes. “Can you reach Selvig so we can talk to him personally?”

“I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer. I asked Jane and apparently he vanished after New York. She thinks he’s probably in Alaska or Canada or something.” Tony sighs and pulls up some of the other SHIELD Tesseract files. “We’re on our own.”

“The problem with this enemy,” Bruce says, “Is that we caught on too late. There was an obvious pattern going on with how Stark Tower and Project Rebirth were both destroyed and we should have realized.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turns back one of Selvig’s reports, something Tony’s gone over now multiple times. He looks exhausted. Probably hasn’t slept since the Culver bombing. “But now, the whole team has already been targeted, except for Thor. If whoever was controlling Amora is really planning on destroying Earth, we’ll be too late to stop them.”

Tony remembers the forgotten list of locations and thinks, too little, too late.

“I suspected a pattern,” Tony says despondently to the page in front of him. “I had Jarvis compile a list of locations I was going to keep an eye on but the whole thing with Loki happened and I got _distracted_.” Tony shakes his head bitterly, a grimace twisting his features.

“It’s not your fault,” Bruce says fiercely, training hazel eyes on Tony. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“Yeah,” Tony says briskly, but there’s still a heavy rock of guilt in his stomach. “But you’re right. We have no idea how to predict anything that’s going to happen next.”

“I’m going to go back to the lab, see if I can get anything off of the figurine I found at Culver,” Bruce says carefully. “Mind sending me these so I can have a look at them later?”

“Sure,” Tony says, and touches a few commands to send all of the Tesseract files to Bruce’s server in his lab. “Tell me if you need any other SHIELD info,” he says impishly, and wiggles his fingers suggestively to cover up the whirling anger he still has directed at himself. Why didn’t he check the locations?

“I will,” Bruce says with a small smile. “Oh, and Tony—“

“Mm?” Tony says from the holographs. He looks up to see Bruce standing hesitantly, his grey duffel slung across his shoulder and bunching up his light blue button up shirt.

“Make sure you tell Steve about this,” Bruce says seriously. “It… it could change a lot of things.”

Tony stares at him for a fraction of a second before nodding. “I will,” he says, echoing Bruce’s words.

Bruce gives a small, awkward wave and leaves in silence.

Tony stares at the empty workshop and feels a little empty himself. Dummy whirrs up next to him, offering him an orange-ish smoothie with a chirp. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and takes the drink. Slurping his smoothie, which he fervently hopes doesn’t have motor oil in it, he goes to find Steve.

Unsurprisingly, Tony finds him in his room, a world map taped hastily to the wall. Red pins mark locations—Manhattan, Brooklyn, Virginia, and Budapest. The bombing locations. This is how Steve solves problems at HQ; he would rather take the time to have a paper copy than have Jarvis create a holograph screen in seconds.

Steve is sitting on the floor, staring up at the map with a concentrated look on his face. His brown leather jacket is thrown haphazardly on a chair nearby and the sleeves of his plaid shirt are rolled up to the elbow, exposing a ticking watch on his left wrist. The handgun he brought to the bar is resting unassumingly next to him.

“Hey, Cap.”

Steve turns around so fast Tony is surprised he doesn’t crack his neck.

“Oh, Tony,” he says, and relaxes. “What’s going on?”

Tony furrows his brows and takes a sip of his smoothie, stalling for time. “I was going over Selvig’s notes on the Tesseract and I found something.” Tony says hesitantly, and proceeds to re-explain the situation with the Tesseract and what it’s capable of. When he’s finished, Steve’s face is dark.

“Well,” he says, and runs a hand through his hair apprehensively.

“Well what?” Tony says, because he’s never been great at being patient. “What are you planning on doing?”

“About the Tesseract? I don’t know yet,” Steve says, and stands up, tucking the gun into the back of his pants. “I was actually thinking of talking to Loki.”

“Loki?” Tony asks incredulously. “Why? He wasn’t very polite this morning. Actually, I was thinking that more in the terms of ‘he was a pompous, theatrical ass.’”

“True, but he knows more about this stuff than any of us,” Steve points out. “Besides, I’m not getting anywhere with that map.”

“Fine,” Tony grumbles, and drains the rest of his smoothie before tossing the disposable cup in a convenient garbage can as they head out the door. “But I’m coming with you. Can’t have America’s golden boy getting corrupted by Loki.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but Tony can tell he’s grateful.

“Jarvis, can you direct us to Loki?” Tony says.

_“Unfortunately, sir, Thor and Loki are no longer on the premises. I believe they are in Central Park,_ ” Jarvis says, sounding slightly alarmed.

“What?” Tony yelps. “How did they get out?”

“ _You had not locked down Thor’s access, sir. When they attempted to leave headquarters, I could not hold them back without overriding your direct orders._ ”

“Shit,” Tony mutters. Is everything meant to go wrong today?

Steve shoots him a look. “Where are they Central Park, Jarvis?” To Tony, he says, “We have to track them down, you know.”

_“Approximately at the northernmost tip of the reservoir,_ ” Jarvis says quietly.

“Yes, I know,” Tony retorts to Steve. “I also know that I don’t want SHIELD to publish that we’ve been harboring an international criminal when Loki blows Manhattan sky-high!”

“Thor’s with him,” Steve reminds him as they sprint down toward the garage. He’s not even short of breath, the bastard. “That’s gotta count for something.”

“It won’t be enough if Loki really goes all out.” _Or if he turns traitor again_ , Tony doesn’t add.

Steve grimaces. “You’re probably right.”

Tony reluctantly concedes that a SHIELD car is probably the best option, because it’s better defended and practically comes with a built in arsenal in the trunk. They get into the car, the route already programed into the GPS console by Jarvis.

He drives recklessly through the streets of Manhattan, skidding to a halt on a street in Central Park. He thanks whatever god is watching over him that he finds a parking spot in the first place. Steve and he exit the car as fast as they can, slamming the matte black doors behind them. The sound is lost in the millions of other noises of the city as they leave the car at the curb and run into the park.

“Jarvis, come on, give me something,” Tony talks into the phone that he filched from Steve. “Where are they?”

_“About 300 feet on your two o’clock, sir,_ ” Jarvis’ voice sounds tinny from the phone and Tony has to hold it close to his ear to hear it.

“300 feet that way,” Tony relays to Steve, pointing at the correct angle. Steve nods and starts running ahead of him. “Super-soldiers,” Tony mutters, and follows.

They burst into a small clearing of trees, brown branches dotted with fiery leaves underneath the grey sky.

Thor and Loki look surprisingly innocent in the clearing. Innocent, as in, not committing active murder, at least. Loki is kneeling on the hard packed dirt, inspecting something at his feet while Thor stands impatiently above him. His arms are folded and he looks strangely bare with Mjolnir absent from his hip.

Loki’s hands are still shackled together, but the length of chain in between his wrists has been somehow expanded to allow him more reach as he pokes carefully at the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tony all but yells when he runs in.

Thor turns, startled, his hand flying toward his side, but Loki simply ignores him.

Steve claps a hand over Tony’s mouth and he splutters. He tries to say, “Get off me,” but it comes out as muffled nonsense. He glares, and rips Steve’s wrist away with his free hand.

“What Tony means to say,” Steve says, looking pointedly at him, “Is that we ask you, Loki, to refrain from being seen by civilians in the company of a current Avenger.”

“My apologies, Steve,” Thor says, looking worried. “But—“

“Quiet,” Loki hisses. He’s closed his eyes and has his fingers pressed into the dirt, like he’s feeling for vibrations.

“Sorry, but you’re going to have to come back to HQ,” Tony says firmly. He takes a step forward.

“I said quiet,” Loki snarls, and opens his eyes to glare at Tony. The natural green of his irises has been infused with a bluish glow, and Tony is reminded, suddenly, of the Chitauri scepter and its capabilities.

Thor steps in front of him, standing in between the mischief god and Tony.

“I am sorry, but you cannot come any closer,” Thor says regretfully. The air is starting to spark warningly and Tony leans away slightly. “My brother needs a few moments without interference.”

“I want to know what he’s doing,” Tony growls, craning his head to try and see over Thor’s massive shoulder. It’s a useless attempt, because Thor is built like a mountain with the height to match.

“Performing a ritual. Something has happened.”

Steve’s hand tugs on his shoulder. “Come on, Tony, just wait.” Quietly in Tony’s ear, he murmurs, “Don’t make an enemy of Thor when we just got him back. You don’t have the suit.”

Tony makes a wordless sound of frustration and steps out from under Steve’s hand. However good of terms he and Steve have gotten on, Steve still has a clear line of separation between Tony and the suit. However, he reluctantly concludes that armed with Steve’s phone and nothing else, he would probably lose to a fight with Thor.

Probably. Who is he kidding? He’d get his ass whooped.

Loki hasn’t moved from where he’s looking as though he’s carved from marble, and with his lashes curving darkly against his cheeks Tony has to remind himself that he can’t trust him at all. He doesn’t know enough about whatever Asgardian ritual Loki is performing and he has to keep in mind that it may be a trap. Or an escape route. Just because Thor trusts him doesn’t mean that—

Loki stands up, abruptly, and stares keenly at Tony for a second. The blue glow has vanished and his eyes are again piercing jade. Tony feels trapped in their gaze, held helplessly, and he can’t look away.

Loki breaks eye contact to face Steve and Thor.

“Thanos has arrived on Midgard,” Loki says, and there’s an edge of something like desperation tinting his words.

“Thanos?” Tony says. He suddenly feels small and uncertain when he remembers the cold stone throne and the way the man in it spoke with a voice like destruction. _Thanos is coming for him personally_. If a name can strike that much fear into Loki, Tony would do well to be wary.

Loki’s gaze snaps back to Tony. “Yes. I can feel his presence.”

“Wait a second.” That’s Steve, looking confused. “Thanos… that was the ‘power player’ you mentioned, right? Who might have the Tesseract?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, glancing at Loki.

The god in question looks a little startled. “You told them about him.”

“There wasn’t much to tell. I don’t know who he is, or what he is, or anything about him,” Tony says hotly.

At the same time, Steve says warily, “What?”

Loki continues as though Steve hadn’t spoken at all. “You do. You have met him.”

Tony can tell that there’s a confused expression etched onto his face. “Nope, I’m pretty sure I haven’t. I’d remember it.”

Now it’s Loki’s turn to look confused. “I thought—“

Steve chooses that moment to butt his pomaded head in. “Somebody please explain what’s going on with this Thanos person.” He fixes his blue eyes on Tony. “I know you said he was powerful and might have the Tesseract, but if I’m remembering right even Thor didn’t know who he was,” Steve says.

“Aye,” Thor says uncertainly. He sounds as though he’s confused by what the conversation is even about. Well, he’s not the only one. “They asked me if I had heard of them,” Thor says to Loki. “I told them I had not.”

“You would not have met him,” Loki says blankly. “It was only during my time in the abyss that I encountered his foul presence.” His face betrays nothing, but his voice falters on the word “abyss.” Tony doesn’t like the sound of that.

Thor’s face, on the other hand, looks pained and angry. He looks away, fixing his gaze on the frosty ground, and Tony wonders at the story there.

“Who is he?” Steve asks. Looking at him, Tony can tell that he’s picked up on the sensitive topic as well.

“He is pure evil,” Loki murmurs, his gaze dark. He starts walking away briskly, the icy dirt crunching beneath his boots. Tony reaches out a hand and grabs his shoulder.

“Where are you going? You can’t leave us hanging like—”

In an instant, Loki has him caught in a chokehold, the thick length of chain binding his wrists together pressing up against Tony’s neck. The words die in his throat.

Steve starts forward, looking murderous, while electricity crackles in the air. Loki steps back, away from Tony, the chain dangling unassumingly from his shackled wrists.

“Do not. Touch. Me. Again,” Loki growls from gritted teeth.

Tony presses his fingers to his bruised neck and stares at Loki in shock as he tries to breathe like a normal person.

Steve stands next to him, a solid wall of anger directed at Loki.

“I want to know,” Tony says once he’s breathing normally, “Who Thanos is.”

“Do you, Anthony?” Loki asks quietly, and he sounds like he’s going to snap soon. “Do you really? Would you like to know which tools he uses when torturing? His varied methods of execution? The fact that he was one of the masterminds behind the invasion I led into New York last year? How about that he believes that he can _court Death_ , and causes _genocide_ to appease her?” Loki is breathing hard now, two bright spots of color on his sharp cheekbones.

Tony is stunned into silence, trying to process all of the information Loki just spat out at him. He can tell by the astonished and staggered looks on Steve’s and Thor’s faces that they didn’t know any of this either.

Loki stares at him, with eyes that are green and accusing. “I didn’t think so,” he whispers.

With that, Loki leaves, tendrils of hair blowing into his face with the blustery autumn wind. The three of them are too startled to do anything but stare at his retreating figure for a moment before chasing after him.

Shit. Tony pushed him too far, much too far, uncovering a whole mess of wounds. Now they might lose him if he decides to magic himself away, and it’ll all be his fault. He bursts out of the bordering of trees and—

Finds Loki sitting in the horrible, SHIELD-branded car.

For a second time in the past couple of minutes, Tony finds himself dumbfounded. He doesn’t know why Loki is staying, and it’s nagging at him like an itch he can’t scratch.

Steve looks just as bemused as he is, mouth gaping open until he shuts it with a snap, while Thor simply gives Loki a considering look and walks around the car to get in on the other side.

“Why are you still here?” Tony asks dazedly, and maybe that’s not the best question—shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that—but he doesn’t know what to make of this.

Loki raises an eyebrow, looking unconcerned, but the flush hasn’t disappeared from his cheeks. “I can’t teleport in these blasted cuffs,” he says, irritated, as if he can’t tell why Tony is asking. “And the only other mode of transportation to get back to your ‘headquarters’ is the method I came here in, which I do not want to experience again.” He rolls the window up with an annoyed flick of his fingers. So the cuffs suppress teleportation but no other magic. Interesting.

“How did he get here again?” Tony hisses to Steve.

“I think Thor flew them,” Steve says blankly. His face has morphed from confused to suspicious.

Tony barks a laugh and moves to the drivers’ door. “I’d like to see that,” he says, smirking as he slides in and slams the door behind him.

Steve doesn’t respond, but there’s a quirk of a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth.

It’s only when Tony looks back at the car’s occupants that he realizes it’s the same group that drove away from the bar with him after Amora. Oh, no. The most uncomfortable car ride that he never wanted to experience again is happening for a second time right now.

He decides that yes, the universe hates him.


	13. Chapter 13

Tony drives as fast as he can back to HQ so he can escape the silent tension. Added to the unbearable hush, he realizes how strange and out of place Thor and Loki look inside a car. It’s almost… domestic.

Okay, Tony will admit that he’s seen Thor being “domestic” before—after all, the guy likes to eat PopTarts for breakfast in his boxers. Still, Thor hasn’t been out of his armor since Loki arrived and his cape is taking up way too much space in the back seat as well as adding another three inches to his shoulders, which is a bitch when Tony has to look in the rearview mirror.

Loki, on the other hand, he’s seen out of battle gear maybe once, and that was through his HUD with his suit’s whole arsenal of missiles aimed at him. Loki may fit better physically in the car, being leaner and wirier than Thor, but he looks about ten times more out of place in it.

Point is, Tony’s never seen Loki without his armor on and his guard up.

It’s these thoughts, along with an annoyingly pressing sense of déjà vu, that occupy him as they pull into the garage. Didn’t he just do this?

“I feel like Neo and the black cat,” Tony mutters to himself.

“What was that?” Steve asks as they’re getting out of the car.

“Neo,” Tony repeats. He ignores Thor and Loki, who have stopped and are looking on with confusion and disinterest, respectively. “The Matrix? No?”

“What’s the Matrix?” Steve asks with a confused frown on his face.

“I haven’t showed you the Matrix,” Tony says flatly. “I am a horrible person.”

Steve just gives him a look that clearly states _you’re insane_.

“Okay. I’m sorry, but this matter can’t go unresolved. Next time we get a free moment, you, me, Thor. Matrix.”

Tony can see Loki out of the corner of his eye and a strange expression flickers across his face.

“You may have less ‘free moments’ than you think,” Loki says, his voice blank and cool.

The lighthearted mood dims slightly, and Steve turns Loki with a slightly startled look. “What do you mean?” He asks, a hint of wariness showing through his words.

“In the clearing, I felt Thanos’ presence, if not his location, through the earth. He’s… tracing something. I believe that I know when he will strike,” Loki says, and his hands clench into fists beneath the sleeves of his armor.

“You know—“ Tony shakes his head in confusion. “Wait, what? Thanos?”

Loki sneers disarmingly. “Yes, _Thanos_. Surely you haven’t forgotten about him already?”

“I didn’t—“ Tony begins, but Loki cuts him off.

“Thanos has landed on Midgard for a reason. I told you he commits genocide to appease his mistress. Now that he is here, he will destroy this planet.”

“I—what?” Steve asks, a stunned look on his face. “How?”

There’s a sinking feeling in Tony’s gut and his face drains of color. He feels like he’s just been hit by a truck. “With the Tesseract,” he whispers, because he can _see_ now—

“The bombings, with Amora—she was just a _pawn_. And having Thor and Loki sent after SHIELD—it was all a setup. He’s going to destroy the solar system.” _Obliterate_ , Selvig said. Tony doesn’t want to find out what that means. He rounds on Loki. “You knew,” he snarls. “ _You knew_ , and you kept this from us. What, are you in league with him?”

Loki looks impassive, but his mouth is a tight line of displeasure. “Am I obliged to tell you everything?” He hisses. “You are keeping me prisoner. I do not owe you anything.” He looks closed off and angry. “And I cannot even _begin_ to express how foolish my ‘being in league’ with him would be.”

“Yeah?” Tony asks furiously, advancing. “And why’s that? Because last time you were here, you wanted to destroy the planet to become king of the mountain in the middle of your temper tantrum. _Forgive_ me for making the connection between your end goals.”

“Need I remind you that I led the Chitauri invasion and I failed?” Loki says, his eyes sparking with rage. “He despises your Avengers, but I failed. When he comes, I will die.”

Tony stares at Loki’s glittering, glittering eyes, hears a tiny thread of desperation curling around his voice. What is he supposed to believe?

"How long?" Steve asks. When Tony glares at him, uncertain they should indulge Loki, Steve simply squares his shoulders. Tony knows that look. It’s his “Better be Prepared” look, and there’s no arguing with it.

"The Autumn Equinox," Loki murmurs, the hollows under his cheekbones dark in the fluorescent light. "The day of exact balance between light and dark. At that time, Thanos will use the Tesseract to engulf your realm in destruction and we will _all_ perish."

God, how much bad news have they received today? If Loki is to be believed, then the whole world, 7.3 billion people, will die. His team will die. Phil Coulson, who cheated death once already, will die.

It’s genocide.

“Today is September 15th. The Equinox is on the 23rd. You’re saying we have a week from tomorrow until we all die?” Steve asks, still slightly disbelievingly.

Thor is pale next to Loki, his fists clenched in white knuckled grips. Mjolnir is humming at his hip, bright arcs of energy reaching out from it and crackling in the still air. Loki stays silent, his face blank and his eyes dark. It’s all the answer Tony needs, and when he turns to Steve there’s a dawning horror on his face.

Loki seems to gather himself together after that revelation and starts toward the stairs, his sharp figure looking especially dark against the light of the garage. Tony is too numb to stop him.

Bruce bursts in suddenly, panting slightly as if he had run the whole way to the garage.

“Hey,” he says, out of breath. His face is drawn and his eyes look tired, flickering warily towards Loki. “You guys have been all over the media—SHIELD is on the line and—“ He notices their faces and stops. “What happened?”

“In a week we’re all going die,” Tony says flatly.

They have to explain everything that’s happened. It’s long and painful and by the end of it Bruce looks ten times as weary. If Thanos’ goal was to break their team before he even started his main destruction, then he’s nearing success. Tony has no idea where Clint and Natasha are, and Thor and Loki have become their own little duo, though it’s admittedly a rather resentful one. The cohesion that they had finally achieved after New York has been fracturing with the individual attacks.

“Well, we have a week,” Bruce says, running a hand over his jaw. “Just… Fury’s on the line, I think Jarvis has been holding him there for a while. Some people caught you four in Central Park with their phone and there’s been uproar from everybody. I think Pepper is trying to handle some of it, but…”

“I’ll talk to him,” Steve says. He’s as burnt out as the rest of them, but super-soldiers run on less sleep, as Tony figured out after hearing him moving around at all hours of the morning. He probably isn’t too tired, physically.

Bruce gives him a nod and throws him a grateful glance.

Steve brushes past Bruce and leaves the garage, presumably to deal with a—hah, furious—Fury. Tony watches him disappear up the stairs, and thinks that they probably won’t see him for a while. When Fury rants, it can take hours. No, really. There was one after Tony did that thing with the Empire State Building that lasted 190 minutes.

Thor starts to leave after Steve, their little group in the garage now resembling a pile of leaves scattering in the wind. He murmurs something about getting a message to Asgard and the Allfather. Tony stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Look, Thor… just… what’s your opinion on this?” Tony asks awkwardly. What he really means is, _is Loki telling the truth?_

Thor’s brows draw together. “Loki does not have the Tesseract, of that I am certain,” he says surely. “As for if Thanos has it… I can see no reason why Loki would lie. He cannot leave Midgard, not with the cuffs I have placed on him.”

Tony exhales, thinking. “Okay. Thanks, Thor.”

Thor leaves then, the door swinging shut behind him. Now it’s just Bruce and him, standing awkwardly in the concrete silence of the garage.

“Did you get anything off the Hulk figurine?” Tony asks finally. He needs something to distract him.

“Nah,” Bruce says, and shakes his head slightly. “Loki was right. There wasn’t anything—no fingerprints, DNA, residual energy—it was like it was wiped clean.”

“Well, Amora was an Enchantress, whatever that means, so she could probably do something that would erase all traces,” Tony says halfheartedly.

Bruce stares at him keenly. “Hey,” he says lowly. “We both know that this conversation isn’t anything you already expected. What’s on your mind?”

“Besides the fact that a guy who we know nothing is going to destroy the planet in a week?” Tony snorts. “Not much.”

“We still have time,” Bruce urges. “We can figure something out.” He sounds unsure, though, and Tony fights down the hopelessness that’s rising up inside him.

“It’s just—all the _people_ ,” Tony says helplessly. “The civilians. No one knows, and if we _don’t_ figure something out, everyone is going to die. When we could have at least warned them so they could say goodbye.”

Bruce looks down, scuffing his foot on the concrete floor. “Yeah. I know. But _you_ know that SHIELD will shut you down if you breathe a word of this to anyone outside of the team.”

Tony rolls his head and hears his neck crack a few times. “No, the public would go crazy, I know. I just wish we could _do_ something.”

“Only way to do that is to stop Thanos,” Bruce says plainly.

“Yeah, but there are so many problems with that,” Tony says, frustrated, running a hand through his hair and tugging on the strands. It’s getting long; he should probably cut it soon. He starts heading upstairs, motioning for Bruce to follow behind him. “The first is, obviously, that he has the _Tesseract_. The whole point of it is that it’s an unlimited energy source.

“We also have no idea where he is,” Tony says as they reach the lab-workshop floor. “Earth is a huge place and Loki is of no help whatsoever, because of the whatever it is that’s supposedly ‘hiding Thanos’ presence.’ We know when he’s planning his attack, but by the time that it’s the Equinox we’ll all be dead.”

“Loki said that he would die first,” Bruce says grimly. “I’m not saying we should use him as our canary in a coal mine, but we may have no other options.”

“Just because he’s going to die doesn’t mean it’ll necessarily be on the Equinox,” Tony argues. “Besides, that still may not give us a location.”

“I know,” Bruce sighs. “I’m just brainstorming here.”

Tony stares ahead unseeingly. “A week,” he announces, “will go by extremely fast.”

“Yep,” Bruce exhales. “Hey, I’m going to go to the lab and see if there were any strange energy spikes. All the other portals have left some residual energy on scanners so we might get at least a sense of where this Thanos arrived.”

“Good idea,” Tony says, and claps him on the back, giving him a little half smile. “I think I’ll go help Steve with Fury. God knows he loves me best. Let me know if you find anything, okay?”

The corners of Bruce’s mouth turn up and he nods. He starts walking briskly in the direction of his lab.

Tony heads up another set of stairs to get to the main floor. There, he sees Steve in the common room, his arms folded and a frown on his face. He’s standing in front of the large screen that serves as both a television and a computer. Fury’s enraged face looms from the screen, clearly in mid-rant.

_“—can’t believe that you let out a high risk prisoner into the public eye—no, actually, I can’t believe that you even had him in the first place. Jesus fucking Christ, how long has this been going on? Anything else you’d like to tell me? Are you drinking buddies with Doom now too? Because let me tell you, this whole shebang is—“_

“Hello, Director Fury,” Tony says politely, a razor sharp smile curving on his face. “Anything else you’d like to say? Because we have some news of our own that’s kinda important.”

“ _There is a damn lot more I’d like to say, considering you were harboring a wanted war criminal. You fuckups need—“_

“No,” Tony cuts in. He’s in no mood for Fury’s pissy attitude, not when there’s a death timer hanging over their heads. Steve is eyeing him warningly. “That, unfortunately, was a rhetorical question. Loki, for the moment, has been an asset. But that’s—“

Fury interrupts, and Tony can practically see the smoke blowing out of his ears. “ _That isn’t your call to make. Loki was a SHIELD prisoner and therefore if you have been keeping him knowingly without notifying us—_ “

“Quiet,” Tony hisses. Fury is a princess bitch and Tony has enough to deal with right now. “Loki isn’t a priority, as you yourself said not long ago. While god knows that I don’t like you, you need to know this.”

Fury’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything.

“On September 23rd,” Tony enunciates carefully. “An alien named Thanos is going to use the Tesseract to destroy the earth.”

Fury inhales a long breath and leans back. “ _How do you know?”_

Tony bites his lip and tries to remember what Fury does and doesn’t know. “Remember the Asgardian woman, who died the other day?”

The Director nods curtly.

“She was the bomber,” Tony says. “Or, at least, we suspect it. Her name was Amora the Enchantress. She had the Tesseract in what Thor called a ‘dimensional pocket’ at the crime scene but we lost it before we could obtain it.”

Fury narrows his eyes. Tony can tell that he’s wondering what else they’ve kept from him besides Loki and the bomber’s identity. _“What do you mean, ‘we lost it’?”_

Tony grimaces. “Loki had it in his hands, but he said it was taken from him. I assume that it was Thanos considering he has it now.”

Fury raises an eyebrow incredulously. “ _You let Loki nearly obtain the_ Tesseract? _Stark, you are one of the dumbest geniuses I’ve ever met. Also, what do you mean that ‘you assume’ this guy Thanos took it? Don’t tell me that—“_

“I said that I assume he took it because it’s now in his possession!” Tony snaps. “Thanos was behind the whole thing; you saw that Amora had the Chitauri brain parasite. Loki said that he was one of the superiors who directed the Chitauri invasion last year, it _makes sense_.”

Fury looks at him dubiously. _“Loki said this, Loki said that,”_ he mocks. _“Stark, have you forgotten that Loki was the one who wanted to enslave us all in the first place? You can’t trust him. One of his literal names is Liesmith_.”

Tony feels a prickle of doubt in the back of his mind. Could Loki have been playing them this time? No, wait. He said that Thanos wants to kill him. But then again, it was _Loki_ who gave them that information, and Jesus this is going in circles. He pushes away the creeping suspicion and turns his attention back to the Director of SHIELD.

“We know that Loki doesn’t have the Tesseract,” Tony says calmly. “On word of Thor. And he can’t leave Earth with the cuffs Thor’s put on him. I, for one, wouldn’t like to wake up on the 23rd and realize that we were wrong.” He pauses for breath. “And what I really think should be your top priority is the fact that _the world will be destroyed_. In a week.”

Fury stares at him. Tony thinks that he probably seems insane, putting so much trust into Loki’s words. But it _makes sense_ , like he told the Director, with all of the other events that have happened.

“ _Fine,_ ” Fury growls. _“Let’s say, hypothetically, that you’re right. What the hell are you going to do?”_

Tony blinks once, surprised. “I don’t know,” he admits. “We know that Thanos arrived on Earth this morning, but we don’t know where.”

Fury looks tired, like every other person in this goddamned building. They’re all weary and tired from the events of the past few days. Tony feels stretched too thin, like he’s been worn down so much that soon he’s going to snap.

The Director pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “ _So we’re stuck, is what you’re saying. And that we’re all going to die_.”

“Pretty much,” Tony agrees.

“ _Shit_.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence, digesting the information, and Tony’s shoulders slump. The fiery spurt of anger that had erupted at the beginning of Fury’s phone call has disappeared, leaving him feeling cold and empty.

“ _If you find anything, let me know,_ ” Fury says, more quietly this time. “ _Give me daily updates. I’ll have the boys here start looking into any way to stop the Tesseract.”_

“Sure,” Steve says, and Tony thinks he just looks relieved that this phone call didn’t end in bloodshed.

“ _Who’s with you in HQ right now_?”

“Thor, Loki, Bruce, and Tony,” Steve states, shooting him a glance.

“ _Barton and Romanoff not back yet?”_ Fury inquires.

Tony is slightly surprised. Only slightly, because Fury is the super-spy, after all. But still… “You knew they were gone?”

“ _They notified Coulson about their…ah, contact. Who died in the Budapest bombing,”_ Fury replies, and there’s a strange look on his face. Come to think of it, Tony hasn’t heard a peep out of Coulson since their war council.

Tony also feels a little betrayed. Not that he was expecting much when Clint and Natasha decided to take off, but a notice would have been nice. Now he learns that they took the time for Coulson, but not for the team.

“ _Rogers, Stark_ ,” Fury says, directing Tony’s attention back to him. _“You know that I’m going to have to notify the Council about Thanos and the Equinox.”_

Tony closes his eyes. Shit. He hadn’t thought about that. He opens them, a warning in his eyes when he looks back to Fury. “What are they going to do?”

“ _Whatever they think is necessary_ ,” Fury says grimly. _“You’re gonna have to think up a plan fast, boys, before they locate him and decide to blow him and whatever chunk of land he’s standing on sky high._ ”

“Right,” Tony mutters. “I’ll go down to the lab, check in with Bruce and start… figuring out something.”

Fury snorts. “ _You do that, Stark. As for the Loki situation, your official cover story is that you are holding Loki prisoner in HQ. If he has information, use it but don’t trust it. Don’t fuck up._ ”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Director,” Tony says sarcastically.

“We’ll keep an eye on Loki,” Steve promises.

“ _See that you do_.” With a click, Fury signs off and the screen goes dark. What a dick.

“ _Sir, the press would like a statement_ ,” Jarvis says gently. “ _Whenever is convenient for you, of course.”_

Obviously the press doesn’t _really_ care about Tony’s convenience very much, but Jarvis is a tactful AI. Unfortunately, Tony’s willing to bet that they’re swarming outside HQ right now, which really isn’t something he wants to deal with.

“I’ll handle it,” Steve volunteers, looking at Tony. “I owe you for that time with the donuts anyways.” He gives a half smile because he knows Tony, knows that he doesn’t like to owe anyone anything. Doesn’t like debts hanging over his head.

“I—okay,” Tony agrees, startling himself with the easy acceptance. He throws Steve a grateful glance. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Like you said, you have a lot of things you have to do,” Steve replies, heading towards the stairs. “Also, I’m kind of useless at this part anyways.”

“What, locating the bad guy?” Tony asks. He notices Steve going towards the stairs. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Yeah. And I’m getting the uniform, you know the press thinks it’s ‘informal’ when I show up in civilian clothes,” Steve adds.

“Right,” Tony says faintly. “Ah, thanks again, I’m just going to… go.” With that, he bolts back down the stairs, leaving Steve standing confused behind him. Just… he’s not used to people doing nice things for him purely because they want to. It’s weird and he doesn’t know how to react to it. Maybe that’s screwed up, but then again, so is he.

No. Steve is paying off a debt.

His feet lead him down to Bruce’s lab before Tony realizes that Bruce probably won’t have any leads on Thanos yet—he remembers how long it took to track the Tesseract the first time, and while they’ve worked on perfecting the algorithm since then, he estimates it’ll be a couple of hours before they even have an idea of where Thanos might have landed.

So Tony goes back to his workshop, and he doesn’t know what he’s looking for yet but he tells Jarvis to keep his eyes peeled for anything strange just in case.

He has to fix his armor, because it did fall into the ocean from 30,000 feet a couple days ago and it’s pretty battered. Tony does have other suits but the Mark XIV was his favorite so far and it’s the only one that has the upgraded HUD that he put in a month or so ago.

It’s still laying wrecked on the table where Steve dropped it off when Tony was unconscious on the Helicarrier. Inspecting it, Tony realizes that it’s more damaged on the right side, which makes sense given what he remembers on the placement of his former injuries.

He’s about to start working on rewiring the right hand repulsor when Jarvis speaks.

“ _Sir, while you have been extremely busy, I must inform you that you have sixteen missed messages from Ms. Potts and four missed messages from Director Fury._ ”

“I already got Fury, delete those,” Tony says, pulling out a screwdriver. He thinks if he listens to the Director’s voice anymore he might break something.

“ _And the ones from Ms. Potts?”_

Tony pauses from where he’s prying off the casing for the index finger. “Play the first.”

“ _Tony, I don’t know where the hell you are, but you are a dead man. Stark Tower—Tony, Jesus, you could at least come back! I don’t know what was—I just—I know you’re busy but please, just—call me back_.”

Tony works on the glove as he plays through the messages, a screwdriver gripped tight in his teeth as he puts in new wires to replace the crushed ones. Pepper’s messages get increasingly more worried and she tells him that the bombings have shaken the public’s faith in the Avengers. Tony knew this, he did, but hearing Pepper say it makes him think—they haven’t been able to stop anything that Thanos had done.

He calls her, afterwards, if just to hear her voice, listens to her rant and rave at him for a good half hour, and he tells her about their deadline, about the Equinox. She says, “ _Well, I still have a company to run for another week,”_ and he can hear the tremble in her voice.

He says, “Pep, be careful, okay?”

“ _You watch out for yourself, Tony,”_ she whispers. _“And if—if you don’t figure something out in time—just, come see me, okay? I love you.”_

“Love you too, Pep,” he replies, because he does, if not in the way he did before. The call goes dead and he stares for a bit, takes a moment to miss her. Thinks about why they didn’t work out.

It was one too many stunts, one too many close saves, one too many self-sacrificing acts. She had told him one day that it was too much, that she couldn’t bear to stay knowing that he may not come back the next morning.

Pepper moved on. She’s with a guy from his R&D department in California, and Tony doesn’t resent him, which means that he’s good. He deserves Pepper, like Tony never did, and he’s safe. Safe enough that Pep doesn’t have to worry about him flying into a wormhole with a nuke or coming home battered and bruised.

Pepper moved on, but Tony didn’t. Hasn’t. He never really believed in true love or “the one,” though, but he figures that Pepper is probably the best person he could have had and, well… he lost his chance.

Maybe it means he’s a little lonely at times, but he’s got his team.

Right?


	14. Chapter 14

Tony stays in the workshop for 19 hours. It’s weird that he knows exactly how long that he’s been in there, because usually he gets so lost in inventions that days can go by without him noticing, but this time there’s a little countdown clock in the corner of all of his holograph screens that he pulls up. Seven days until the Equinox.

He finally surfaces when Jarvis refuses to let Dummy bring him any more food until he’s slept at least twelve hours. Tony tells him to stop killing his buzz and bargains it down to eight hours.

Tony goes up the… however many flights of stairs there are to get to his bedroom. He’s a little dizzy and too tired to bother counting.

Once he gets there, he looks at his bed in distaste and curses Jarvis silently. Thing is, after New York, he hasn’t been able to sleep. Not like he used to. Not without waking up in cold sweat, brandishing his palms and trying to fight an invisible enemy.

But he really is tired—wasn’t the last time he slept a couple days ago? Maybe. He thinks it was when Bruce practically manhandled him into the bed, which means yeah, it’s been a couple days.

He’s also been wearing the same clothes for the entire time and now they’re covered in grease; black smudges marking his hands and forehead as well. When he crosses his eyes he thinks he can see a smear on his nose. Tony grimaces and resolves to take a shower in the morning, when he’s not exhausted.

He pulls off his shirt and it smells like smoke and fire. Right. Tony remembers the Project Rebirth bombsite, with white ash drifting from the sky and the black clouds of smoke swirling through the air. He ditches his shoes near the door, which are caked in ashy powder and dirt.

Too tired to do anything else, he crawls into bed still in his jeans. His eyes feel like he’s been dumping sand into them and he sighs, closing them. The soft clicks and hums of Jarvis locking down his room for the night is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.

And boy, does he dream.

It’s New York, and he’s falling, falling out of the sky.

This time, there’s no Hulk to catch him, no suit to power on at the last moment, and he’s stuck helplessly plummeting through the air, the roar of the wind in his ears. Tony has had this dream before.

But something is different this time.

As he falls, he sees no Chitauri. There are no Leviathans, no alien foot soldiers, none of those little hovercraft vehicles that Clint had christened, “floating alien jet skis of doom.” There are people, yes, civilians, and there is fire.

Tony watches, as he falls, a skyscraper explode in a silent shattering of blue fire and glass. A nearby building gives a low groan and starts to crumble before the entire block is incinerated. Bodies are thrown through the air like rag dolls, and while the suit blocks his hearing, he can tell that people are screaming.

One by one, every building he can see is destroyed, blue fire creeping like a plague until he’s falling down onto a smoldering, city-wide pile of debris and charred earth.

New York.

Tony plummets toward the wreckage of Manhattan like a stone and never stops falling. The carnage never gets closer. He screams himself hoarse, tries desperately to do something, anything to stop his descent. Raw terror grips his stomach and his suit is a prison around him.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and a bright light flashes in front of his eyes. The taste of mint and metal pervades his mouth and he wakes up, gasping.

Tony strikes out blindly, attempting to hit the hand on his shoulder, but he finds nothing. When he opens his eyes, searching wildly, there’s only darkness. The sheets tangle around his legs and his arms and he tumbles off the bed with a yell.

He lies on the floor, twisted in his blankets, and attempts to catch his breath. His jeans are soaked in sweat and the sheets mute the arc reactor’s blue glow. Mint and metal.

Tony checks the time, which is displayed on the ceiling, and sees that he’s only slept around six hours. Two less than his bargain with Jarvis, but Jarv will have to tranquilize him if he wants Tony to get back into that bed.

He doesn’t know what woke him up, but after the lingering taste of mint and metal vanishes from his mouth there’s an acidic tang on his tongue. Tony smells the faint odor of smoke in the air and wants to just _stop_ the nightmares.

Shower first. That’s a good idea, right? He stumbles towards the bathroom, avoids the mirror, and turns up the water as hot as it can go. The pattering sound of water fills the heavy silence.

Tony sheds his dirty jeans and boxers and steps into the scalding water. The shower beats down on his shoulders, and he watches blankly as the water turns black with dirt around his feet and swirls into the drain. His eyes close, almost of their own will, and the water drips off his eyelashes and runs down his cheeks like tears.

He hates sleep with a passion.

Once he’s composed himself—well, at the very least, gathered up the shattered remains of his composure—he washes his hair roughly. He wants to erase all traces of the smoky scent from his skin.

Tony shuts off the shower and walks out, wrapping a towel around his waist and ruffling his hair dry. The mirror in the bathroom is clogged up with steam but when he wipes it clean he sees that his shoulders look red and angry from the scalding water. The bags under his eyes haven’t lessened at all, but at least they don’t look any worse.

Since there’s obviously no going back to sleep, and because his stomach feels like it’s going to eat itself, he decides to go down to the kitchen on the main floor to at least get coffee. Tony realizes he doesn’t actually know if they have anything edible down there. Whoops. He’ll have to get Jarvis on that.

He slips on his most comfortable jeans, the ones that have holes but are worn down to a supple softness, and then pulls on a short sleeve shirt that he uses when he doesn’t want to be know as that-guy-with-a-battery-in-his-chest in public. He checks to make sure that the dim glow of the arc reactor isn’t visible through it. While it’s pretty likely that he won’t be out on the streets today, he doesn’t want to expose his “nightlight” to Loki. At all.

Once he’s sure that he’s all good—well, good enough—he heads downstairs to get some food. He’s fucking _starving._

When Tony gets down to the kitchen, he stops and stares. Thor, Steve, Bruce, and Loki are all sitting around some random table that Tony thinks was actually in the common room first. Loki. Is with them.

Loki Liesmith, leader of the Chitauri invasion, god of mischief and trickery, is eating Lucky Charms. All proper and stuff, too, with a spoon and milk and everything.

Steve and Bruce seem to be quietly ignoring this phenomenon as Steve eats his all-American breakfast of literally everything—bacon, pancakes, toast, eggs, orange juice, some kind of granola—you name it, he’s got it. Bruce has both hands wrapped around a mug of tea there’s a finished plate of what Tony thinks was fruit beside him. Thor, of course, is oblivious and happily munching on PopTarts and some of Steve’s bacon between large gulps of coffee from—is that a tankard?

Tony is pretty sure his eyebrows are in his hair by now, but he puts on a brave face and decides that the risk of Loki killing him with a milky spoon is one he’ll take in exchange for some coffee and actual food. He wanders down the steps, Steve greeting him with his fork halfway to his mouth. Thor is too busy eating to say anything.

Tony walks over to the cabinet, conscious of Loki watching him intently from over his bowl of Lucky Charms. Tony grabs a bowl and the first thing he sees, which turns out to be Wheaties. He doesn’t actually know how they got there—who likes Wheaties anyway—but whatever. Tony doesn’t want to be floundering for a breakfast food; he’s too hungry. God, when was the last time he ate?

Picking up a spoon on his way to the fridge, he pours some milk into the bowl, splattering a bit on the counter. Milk cartons have the worst design for actually pouring milk. The manufactures probably designed it specifically so it would spill everywhere. Sighing, he rips off a paper towel from the roll standing on the counter and wipes it up. Sort of. Unfortunately for the counter, he’s too hypnotized by his bowl of Wheaties to do a better job.

Tony wanders over to the mismatched table, bowl and spoon in hand, and drags a bar stool behind him to sit on. Because his teammates are bastards who didn’t get him a chair. Well. They probably weren’t expecting him to emerge from the workshop-cave for a few days yet.

The stool leaves him kind of uncomfortably high, his legs banging into the underside of the table, but it does the job. At least he’s not kneeling on the floor. He digs into his bowl of glorious, glorious Wheaties and shovels a spoonful into his mouth.

"Hey, Tony," Bruce says, looking up from his tea.

"Yeah?" Tony says through a mouthful of cereal.

"One, congratulations on finally getting some food. Two, if you remember the algorithm I had running on where Thanos popped up—it should be done soon. Soon being right now, so after breakfast if you want to come down to the lab we can check."

"If it’s done we should be looking now," Tony says argumentatively. He’s not very convincing, though, because he’s still slouched in his seat shoveling Wheaties into his mouth.

"I’ll have Jarvis lock down the lab if you don’t finish that," Bruce says with raised eyebrows, gesturing to Tony’s bowl.

"Jarvis is a traitor," Tony mutters.

_"I do believe that would be against my programming,"_ Jarvis says, an amused tone in his voice.

Loki, who’s been silently eating his Lucky Charms, looks up abruptly when Jarvis speaks. "Who is that?" He asks. Tony’s surprised. Not that he asked, but the fact that he did so with only a little malice. From what he can read on Loki’s tone of voice, he’s asking with honest curiosity.

"Jarvis," Tony says, his thoughts churning. "He’s—well, he’s kind of the house, kind of a butler, and kind of someone you don’t want to piss off."

_"I am an Artificial Intelligence system, Mr. Laufeyson,"_ Jarvis says diplomatically. _"Sir programmed me when he was 22 and installed me into the Avengers Headquarters last year."_

Loki looks interested, because how can anyone not? Jarvis is amazing. He does twitch, however, and a strange expression sweeps across his face when Jarvis mentions the word "Laufeyson." Tony thinks he knows why that is. It’s only because they forced it out of Thor one night after Doom had somehow opened a portal into Jotunheim and a bunch of blue guys—frost giants—had come through. He’s not going to mention the fact that he knows Loki’s true parentage to Loki himself, though, and looking at Steve and Bruce’s faces he thinks that they won’t either.

"I didn’t know you made Jarvis when you were in college," Steve is saying conversationally, giving Tony a warning glance.

"I didn’t," Tony replies casually, milk dripping off his spoon into his half-eaten bowl of Wheaties. "I graduated college at 17. Pretty sure I was at least partially sober for making Jarvis, though, because the first time I built an AI it was Dummy and I was drunk off my ass."

"And how’d that turn out for you?" Bruce asks dryly.

Tony grimaces. "Well, I think I’ve threatened to donate him to a community college about 300 times, but somehow he’s still here attempting to sweep my floors, so that’s got to count for something."

Bruce concedes with a nod and goes back to his tea. Steve is staring at the both of them as he’s finishing his slice of toast. He downs his orange juice and says, "I’ve never seen Dummy."

"You probably don’t want to," Tony laughs. He’s studiously ignoring Loki. "He’s not allowed to leave the workshop. Makes a mean smoothie, though.”

Steve smiles and gathers up his many plates, the ceramic clinking together. He rises and starts carrying them over to the sink, because so far Tony hasn’t been able to break him of the habit of washing his dishes by hand.

Loki, for his part, is staring down at his Lucky Charms with a frown. He sets down his spoon neatly next to his bowl, the metal landing on the wood with a dull sound, and stands abruptly. "I think I’ll take my leave now," he says, and this time he sounds a little strange. It’s a far cry from his theatrics with Steve and Bruce the other day. Tony wonders vaguely what really goes on in Loki’s head as he dips his spoon back into his Wheaties.

Bruce, Thor, and he stay at the table in silence, the sounds of Steve washing his dishes in the background adding noise to the quiet atmosphere. It’s strangely calming for how domestic it is because he still isn’t used to anything like that. Tony’s been living with the Avengers for a year and family activities like this surprise him.

Once he finishes his Wheaties and Bruce drinks the last of his tea, they say their goodbyes to Thor and Steve and start heading towards the lab. Steve reminds them to send an update to Fury and Tony waves him off with a grumble. Thor bids them a merry farewell, though Tony can see him darting glances out of the corner of his eye to where Loki disappeared.

Tony sighs. It’s going to be a long day.


	15. Chapter 15

Bruce and he walk down to the lab in comfortable silence. Once they get there, Bruce starts bustling around and pulling up the map of recent energy spikes. Blue light illuminates his face and Tony watches idly, hands shoved into his pockets. He knows what it’s like to have another person messing with his work when he’s trying to figure something out, so he doesn’t touch anything.

"Here, look, I’m just going to calibrate it one more time," Bruce says, fiddling with something behind the table. "And... there we go."

A large globe materializes into place between them, throwing everything in the room into a blue-toned light.

"The dot should be where Thanos came in," Bruce says, adjusting something on a holograph screen in front of him. “I got rid of all the ones with energy consistent with the Tesseract.” A blinking orange dot appears immediately in...holy shit, is that _Malibu?_

"Oh my god," Bruce breathes, and Tony squints—yep, that’s Malibu. More specifically, that’s where his Malibu mansion is. Fuck.

"He landed in Malibu," Tony says faintly. The light mood from their breakfast this morning has vanished in a flash.

"This is just another way to screw with us," Bruce says firmly. His face is still pale but he’s breathing normally, at least, which is something Tony can’t really say for himself. "It doesn’t mean anything."

"Except for the fact that he knows where I live," Tony hears himself say. There’s a dull roaring in his ears that he can’t block out. "And that he could have gotten inside my house."

"He didn’t blow it up," Bruce murmurs, almost to himself. "I thought—why wouldn’t he?"

"He’s a fucking diva," Tony snarls. "This is just... playing with us."

Bruce sucks in a breath and, with a wave of his hand, shrinks down the hologram. "God."

 _Get it together_ , Tony tells himself. He’s verging on the edge of a breakdown. He doesn’t know what it is about Thanos landing on Malibu Point that’s shaken him so much, but it’s rattled him down to his bones.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. We can… yeah. We have to—to update Fury, right?”

“Yeah,” Bruce says cautiously. “Do you want me to send it in, or…?”

“No,” Tony says quickly, briskly. “I can do it. Can you tell Steve and Thor?” Get it together. Right.

“‘Course,” Bruce says, though he’s still looking at Tony warily. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure,” Tony says rapidly. He waves Bruce ahead. “Go on, I’ll catch up.”

“…Alright,” Bruce says. He starts heading into the hallway to leave up the stairs, though it’s clearly against his better judgment.

Tony sinks down onto the lab bench once Bruce is gone and breathes. His reaction is irrational to the event that’s happened here—this didn’t happen when Stark Tower was blown up, or even when the Chitauri parasite was expelled from his body. But this is something close to home, like walking into his house and finding somebody else there.

Besides, the Malibu mansion was one of the first places he considered “safe,” one of the only places that wasn’t haunted by his father. It’s where he fine-tuned and developed the Iron Man armor and where he first installed Jarvis. Really, it was his first home— _there’s no place like it_ —because the Avengers mansion is more of a shared location.

But he has to get it together, right? Can’t break down in the middle of a crisis. Tony takes a deep breath and pulls his composure tight around him, pasting a cheery, sarcastic smirk on his face.

He calls Fury. Reluctantly.

The Director’s face pops up in a hologram, a scowl etched onto his face. _“Make it quick, Stark, some idiot managed to fuck up our sewage systems,”_ Fury growls. Tony really missed his dulcet tones.

“We found out where Thanos landed,” Tony says, and while there’s a smile on his face his eyes are cold and dark.

Fury’s interest sharpens. _"Where?"_

Tony clenches his teeth, his biggest shit-eating grin on his face, and says, "Malibu. Malibu Point, actually."

Fury raises an eyebrow in disbelief. _"That’s where your little beach house is."_ It’s a statement, not a question, but Tony answers it anyway.

"Little, my ass,” he snorts, running a hand through his hair. "And fuck you very much. There’s your update for the day, Director!" He says snarkily. "Don’t ask for another 24 hours. Stark out."

_"Stark, wait a fucking second—"_

_Click._

No, Tony’s not really in the mood to deal with Fury right now.

He sucks in a breath and goes into the hallway to see how Bruce is faring with Steve and Thor. God knows that Bruce doesn’t like to be the bringer of bad news, but then again—who does? Tony follows the hallway until he reaches the stairs and starts climbing—and Steve is mean. Plain and simple. The elevator would be amazing right now.

When he gets to the top of the stairs, Tony stares out at the scene before him with a befuddled expression. Thor and Steve are standing in the common room, listening intently to Bruce as he explains the whole Thanos situation. Thor has a fluffy, neon pink bunny or squirrel or something wrapped around his forehead like a sweatband, probably as a result of his trying to interact with Loki.

"Nice hat," Tony says as he walks in. Bruce pauses momentarily to make sure Tony isn’t talking to him, and when it’s clear he isn’t, continues his explanation to Steve.

"It is... not by choice," Thor says, pulling on the pink thing and grimacing slightly. "My brother does not wish to be... disturbed, right now."

"I can see that," Tony replies, and he doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job of covering up the incredulous look on his face.

"Hey—Tony," Steve says, snapping Tony’s attention to him. "Are you sure that Thanos landed in the Malibu mansion?"

"Yeah, we zoomed in far enough to ensure that that was where he teleported to," Tony replies, the words sticking in his throat. "Why?"

"Just... I don’t know," Steve says, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "This whole thing... he seems to be targeting the team, but you especially. It’s strange, isn’t it?"

"We already know why he’s targeting the team," Tony says, his stomach tightening. "I’m probably just the one with more significant places that he can creep into like a stalker." Great mental image. Tony doesn’t know if he really wants to sleep tonight.

Steve still looks unsettled, but concedes with a nod.

"I doubt he would choose only one amongst us as the sole target for his madness," Thor says in a poor attempt at comfort. The pink thing on his head squeaks. "While I do not know him or his race, I can tell you that many people across the nine realms hold grudges and debts in the highest regard. He will not forget the fact that our team defeated him in the Battle of New York. I can tell you with utmost certainty that one of the many reasons Thanos has come to Midgard is vengeance."

"Well, that’s cheerful," Tony mutters. Still, a little bit of the weight resting on his shoulders sloughs off at Thor’s words. He really, really doesn’t want to be singled out by the guy that wants to blow up the entire fucking solar system.

"If we know that he landed in Malibu, what are we supposed to do?" Bruce asks, taking off his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his shirt. He tucks them into his pocket, his eyes moving to look at all three of them.

"I don’t know," Steve admits. "And there’s no way we can track where he is currently?"

"The Tesseract gives off gamma radiation," Bruce reminds him. "I was able to ‘track’ Amora when she had it and I could probably do the same for Thanos if he has the Tesseract in his possession. But my guess is that it’d turn out pretty similar to what happened there—random appearances and disappearances. I’m sorry, but I can’t pin down a teleporter like that."

"What if they’re not random?" Tony says, thinking aloud. He looks up from where he’s cracking his knuckles to see three attentive faces looking back at them. "I’m just thinking... did we ever see a log of all the places the Tesseract appeared? Maybe there’s a pattern."

"I looked over it briefly, but I don’t think anyone else saw it,” Bruce says. “Well, besides Fury,” he adds hastily. “He demanded we send him a log.”

“We could ask—“ Steve begins, but Tony cuts him off.

“I don’t think that would be very good idea,” Tony says sheepishly.

Steve looks at him with something like dawning horror. “What did you do?”

“I may have told him to fuck off after delivering him his daily update with Thanos’ landing point.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly, rubbing a hand over his eyes tiredly. If Steve was a normal human being Tony would bet there would be purple shadows under his eyes. Tony doubts he got more than an hour or so of sleep last night. “Then you should probably start looking, since you blew your chance with Fury.”

Tony scrunches up his face but grudgingly agrees. He flicks Bruce’s shoulder as he walks by, calling, “You coming?”

Bruce rolls his eyes and follows, muttering about stupid geniuses. Tony grins from where his back is turned to him. He hears Thor asking Steve about sparring later and wonders absently what Loki is doing. Also about how Thor is going to spar with a living pink thing on his head.

“You did record a log, though, didn’t you?” Tony asks, falling in to step next to Bruce.

“Yes, Tony,” Bruce says exasperatedly. “What do you think?”

Tony holds up his hands in surrender. “Just checking,” he says with a smirk. It’s only slightly forced.

They go down to the lab again—god, it feels like Tony has just been trekking up and down these same stairs all day—and Bruce starts pulling up a large holographic log of all the places the Tesseract has appeared.

“You start on this,” Bruce says, pushing the list towards Tony. “I’m going to get that program running again and see if we can find where Thanos is now.”

“Mmm,” Tony says absently, already maneuvering different locations around with his fingertips. He’s impressed—for the little amount of time Bruce was tracking her, Amora got around a lot. “Jarvis, sort out all of the bombing locations,” he says, enlarging a world map with blinking points on each of the locations. A new list starts sorting itself out to his left as Jarvis complies with his request.

Tony hears Bruce muttering to himself in the background, but otherwise the lab is silent. It’s a different feel from his workshop, which is cluttered and messy and filled with loud music. Bruce’s lab is more zen, which makes sense considering the man himself. Equipment is put away neatly and there are no old meals in sight. Not to mention the fact that there’s no kitchenette or couch like Tony’s workshop—obviously, Bruce doesn’t stay glued to his lab like Tony, who won’t leave even to eat or sleep if he’s really on to something.

Bruce is puttering around the table, so Tony can’t really see what he’s doing. He does something and a whirring sound starts up before Bruce adjusts something on the floating holographic screen in front of him. He makes an approving noise and turns to Tony.

“Got it up,” Bruce says. “Once it’s calibrated we should be able to see wherever the Tesseract is if it’s on Earth.”

“Hmm,” Tony says, examining the map closely with his hands hovering uncertainly in front of him. “Hey, come look at this,” he says, contemplating, and waves Bruce over. He twitches his fingers and the world map enlarges, the lists on either side sliding sideways and vanishing.

“Did you find anything?” Bruce asks, wiping a hand on his khakis.

“These—“ Tony says, gesturing to all of the blinking orange dots on the map, “—are all of the locations the Tesseract, and we’re assuming Amora as well, popped up, right?”

"Yes," Bruce says slowly, as if he’s not seeing where Tony’s going with this.

"And we know that Amora—well, technically Thanos, I guess—was targeting the Avengers, right? He got to all of us. Stark Tower for me, Project Rebirth for Steve, Culver for you, and the safehouse in Budapest for Natasha and Clint. But he hasn’t done anything for Thor—or Loki for that matter."

"Why would he target Loki?" Bruce asks, frowning. "Also, the whole world is significant enough to Thor to be a target."

"According to Loki, Thanos hates him because he failed in leading the Chitauri invasion to the destruction of Earth," Tony says. "Well, enslavement of Earth," he amends. "And—" he holds up a hand to stop Bruce after he sees him beginning to say something. "—I don’t think just destroying Earth would be well... painful enough." He feels vaguely uncomfortable with the admission. "Just think—Earth is important to Thor, yes, but if Thanos is planning on killing the entire planet all in one go then Thor won’t even be around to see it."

Bruce’s eyebrow is raised dubiously. "And where are you going with this?"

Tony huffs irritably. "Look, if Thanos really wanted to break Thor, he could have killed Jane Foster without destroying the rest of Earth right then," he says. "I’m betting that he was considering it, too, because one of the locations that the Tesseract appeared was her lab in Wales, where she’s supposed to be right now." He darts forward to enlarge the Wales dot to Bruce. "And look—" he zooms back out again. "—there were so many other places Amora went that weren’t bombed. Calcutta, Malibu, Siberia, New Mexico, Buenos Aires, Germany... that’s not even half of it. There’s a pattern here."

"Maybe," Bruce still doesn’t sound convinced. "But if he wanted to ‘break’ you, as you put it, he could have killed Pepper and he didn’t."

"Yeah, I know," Tony says, a furrow between his brows. "That’s something I don’t understand, unless..." he breaks off, a horrified realization stealing over him.

"What?" Bruce asks worriedly.

"Unless he’s going to make us watch," Tony says faintly. "He hates us and wants to kill us, but if he wants to break us first… that’s why he orchestrated all of the bombings—he knew that we couldn’t do anything about it to intercept them. The Equinox is his final game plan," Tony says, and starts pacing. Bruce turns to look at him. "That’s-that’s when everything is going to end. But he’s like a cat playing with a mouse—at the Equinox he’ll be done with us and then he’ll blow up everything."

Bruce scrubs a hand over his face, running fingers over the stubble on his jaw. "So, what, you think he’s going to kill us first?"

"No," Tony says. Shit. They’ve dug themselves deep this time. "I think he’s going to kill us last."

"Make us watch," Bruce echoes dully, and closes his eyes. His face isn’t looking green yet but honestly, Tony wouldn’t be surprised if he was already Hulked out by now. "Okay. Okay. Have you found anything else?"

"I don’t know," Tony mutters, pulling up the list of logged places along with the world map again. "I... I’ll look."

"Send it over here," Bruce says, gathering himself together. "It’s always better to have more minds working on a project." The words are matter of fact, but Bruce’s pale complexion betrays him.

"Going," Tony says, swiping the panels sideways so that copies of the list and map appear in front of Bruce.

"Thanks," Bruce murmurs from where he’s already immersed in files. Tony doesn’t answer, too focused on the list. He’s waved the world map away with his hand and keeps it open in a tiny window in the left-hand corner of his viewing space.

"Jarvis, can you sort these in chronological order?" Tony asks. He can hear Bruce murmuring commands in the background while flipping the map to a mirror image so he can view it.

 _"Of course, sir,"_ Jarvis says, bringing Tony’s mind back to his current task.

Tony starts scrolling through the other list of places. The ones he mentioned to Bruce are only a tiny part.

There’s a man-shaped shadow in the corner of the room.

Tony is reminded suddenly of his time in the hospital after the Atlantic incident. There was a shadow there too.

This one’s different, slimmer and less bulky. It’s revealed why after the shadow peels itself from the wall and turns out to be Loki.

“What the _hell,”_ Tony yelps, his fingers frozen on the holograms. Bruce looks up, alarmed, and Tony can hear the beeping heart monitor around Bruce’s wrist increasing in frequency before Bruce takes a deep breath and the beeping stops.

Loki pays no heed to Bruce or Tony, instead drawing up close in front of the list of locations. The blue light of the holograph tints his face a cerulean color, his eyes glowing.

“What is this?” He asks. For once it’s not with a sneering look. Loki stretches out an arm to touch the hologram before he seems to think better of it and retracts his hand.

“It’s the log of all the places the Tesseract was at before Thanos possessed it,” Tony says guardedly. He notices Bruce sending him a warning glance in his peripheral vision and reminds himself—don’t trust Loki.

The god in question stares at him keenly and turns his gaze back to the list. Apparently Loki can read mirrored text. “I would take a look at these.”

There’s a strange sort of question in that statement, like Loki is asking for permission without actually asking. Tony notices absently that Loki is out of his armor and in what he supposes passes as a “casual” look in Asgard. He’s wearing a forest green tunic with long sleeves, soft black breeches and high riding boots. It’s… strange to see him out of his leather and metal armor.

“Sure,” Tony says easily, but he’s still wary. He swipes his fingers and flips the list around so it reads correctly for Loki.

He’s still fascinated by Loki’s clothes—apparently, the Asgardian look that Loki’s sporting hasn’t translated over to Thor. The thunder god’s version of casual is pretty much anything not armor, including walking around in boxers. Tony knows that Natasha certainly appreciates the view during these times, and Tony would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t notice.

Loki is staring at the log but seems unsure on what to do to move anything. Tony sighs, and moves next to Loki, though he’s certainly still a fair distance away from him. Not going to get too cozy. Bruce is pretending to be looking at the map right now, zoomed in on Germany, but he’s giving Tony glances that clearly say what Bruce thinks about his mental health.

"Look," Tony says, moving the list over so he can see it better. "You can touch it, no problem. It feels solid, but actually—" he swipes a hand sharply through it, and his fingers pass harmlessly through, though the list flicks off. Tony brings it back up with a wave of his fingers. "—It’s not. Just light."

The slightly befuddled look leaves Loki, his face clearing. "Ah. It is similar to our—" he cuts himself off, his mouth pressing into a thin line like he’s remembered where he is. Tony watches him closely. "I understand now." It’s a clear dismissal, but unfortunately Tony’s never been good at taking hints.

"So, how did you enjoy your Lucky Charms this morning?" Tony asks, stepping away from Loki and the holographs and leaning against a table. He picks up an empty vial and turns it over in his hands, before looking up at Loki with raised eyebrows and a holding back a smile.

Loki looks at him suspiciously, like he’s not sure when Tony’s going to turn on him and kill him or something. "I have come to the conclusion that Midgardian food is strange and slightly disgusting," he says with a bite to his voice.

"You can’t come to a conclusion after one meal," Tony protests, defensive of Earth-people food. He’s pretty sure that the Asgardians only have meat and mead anyways. A thought occurs to him and he pulls back. "Unless you had some before. Don’t know when you would’ve had time to stop for a snack while invading Earth, though."

Loki sneers, though it’s weaker than it was before. Tony wonders what’s changed when the realization that Loki’s handcuffs are off hits him like a freight train. So... something else happened last night. Probably to do with Thor and threats. "What constitutes as a breakfast here is sugar and artificial flavoring," he says.

Tony thinks he should be more weirded out than he is right now. After all, he’s bickering with one of their top enemies about food. But hey, Tony’s adaptable. He can roll with it.

"Yeah, we have a lot of artificial shit," Tony concedes, setting the vial down. "But not all breakfast is sweet, did you see what Steve was having?"

"He mentioned ‘pancakes,’" Loki says cautiously. Tony can’t tell what he’s doing; to him it just looks as though Loki is staring at the list with narrowed eyes.

Tony wrinkles his nose. “You picked like the one thing on his plate that was sweet,” he complains. “Sausage, bacon, toast? None of those taste the same as Lucky Charms.” Lucky Charms. Hah, Loki Charms. Tony really surprises himself with his wit sometimes.

“I know what sausage and bacon is,” Loki says, affronted. “And we—they have toasted bread in Asgard. I am not uneducated.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, but none of you guys have our glorious manufactured and processed foods. Face it, you’ve got a lot to learn on human culture.”

Loki brings himself up, turning to face Tony haughtily. “What makes you think I wish to?”

Tony quirks up his mouth in a completely insincere half-smile. “If you’re going to be stuck here for another week before everything goes to hell, it might be a good idea.”

Loki stares at him for a second, something strange lurking in his gaze, before he turns back to the holographs. He navigates the list efficiently, surprising Tony. It had taken Thor weeks before he could even work the TV—but then again, Thor and Loki are very, very different. Thor is loud and brash and brave, but he likes to solve problems with might instead of brains. It’s not that he’s stupid—far from it—but Thor prefers things to be simpler, less complex.

From what Tony can glean from the little he’s seen of Loki, it seems to be the opposite. Loki doesn’t have Thor’s build nor possesses the same physical strength, but Tony had seen security footage of Loki in hand-to-hand combat and he’s good. Really good. He doesn’t fight with strength, but with wits. And Loki likes the complex plans, with trickery and deceit, which shows that in their respective ways of thinking, Thor and Loki are… polar opposites.

Speaking of Thor, Tony needs to go talk to him. He hasn’t had the chance to question him much since Loki came through the mirror, and he wants to ask about the whole handcuff situation.

He brushes past Bruce on his way to the door, clapping him on the shoulder. “See you, Brucey—I gotta talk to Thor. Don’t kill Loki.” He leans back fixing his gaze on Loki’s bemused face for a split second. “And Loki, don’t kill Bruce. Or, ah… don’t try to kill him. I pay enough in property damage as it is.”

Tony saunters out, because he’s an asshole like that, leaving a slightly murderous and alarmed Bruce behind with Loki, who looks slightly murderous and puzzled. They’re both rather speechless behind him, and Tony grins as the doors close with a hiss behind him.


	16. Chapter 16

He heads up to Thor’s room, because he really did mean to talk to him, and knocks. Loudly.

The sound echoes into silence, though, and no Thor appears to greet him at the door. He frowns. “Jarvis, where’s Thor?” He asks.

_"I believe that he is in the gym, sparring with Captain Rogers,"_ Jarvis says, and oh. Right. Tony slaps a hand to his forehead and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could have been paying a little more attention.

He grimaces again and mutters, "Right." He wheels around and begins the lengthy trek down past the main and lab floors, all the way to the almost-bottom floor with the gym.

Tony hears the sound fighting long before he actually reaches the gym, because Steve and Thor are loud and rough when they spar. He supposes it’s with good reason, as they’re the two most "unbreakable" members of the team—besides Bruce, because he almost never spars anyways, and when he does it’s always airing on the side of caution.

He walks down the hallway, humming quietly. Past the first door, because that’s the shooting range (both arrows and guns, of course) and stops at the second door, where the sounds are coming from.

Tony pokes his head in. "Hey, guys—Thor, hello—ugh."

He stops, because Steve and Thor are engrossed in their sparring match and making too much noise to hear him anyway. They’re practicing hand-to-hand combat, because Tony banned them from sparring with the shield and Mjolnir in HQ.

Steve ducks a punch from Thor and gets in close, firing off a few rapid hits to Thor’s ribs. Thor grunts and grabs his wrists, forcing his arms open to land a kick to Steve’s chest. Steve stumbles back, falling against the ropes surrounding the sparring ring. He gets up, arms raised in a defensive position, before Thor sees Tony and waves, relaxing his posture minutely. Steve chooses that moment to strike forward, twisting Thor’s arm back and slamming him down onto the sparring mat, a forearm on his throat.

Rather than growling or reacting angrily, Thor laughs. Steve offers him a hand and pulls him up with a smile. They both step out of the ring and head over to the bench. Steve starts to unwrap the tape around his knuckles and Thor picks up a towel, wiping his forehead with it. Well, what he can reach of it. He still has the pink thing on his head, its fluffy fur poofed out like an angry cat.

"What’s going on, Tony?" Steve asks. He’s changed from this morning into a pair of loose sweats and a t-shirt. Thor is similarly dressed in a pair of those Asgardian breeches and a shirt that Tony is pretty sure Pepper gave him, because it has the Stark Industries logo branded on it.

"I was wondering if I could talk to Thor," Tony says, and the look Steve gives him isn’t wasted.

"Okay," Steve replies after a beat, and starts gathering up his bag. "I was just going to get a drink, actually."

There’s a fully stocked fridge along with other features like a locker room and shower in the gym, but Tony appreciates Steve’s tact. Tony nods, and Steve gives him a slightly strained smile before exiting the gym.

"What did you wish to talk about?" Thor says, and while his voice is friendly his eyes look sharply to the door closing in Steve’s wake.

Tony scuffs his feet, suddenly slightly uncomfortable. "I wanted to know about Loki," he says lowly.

Thor’s face goes suddenly more closed off. "Why?"

"I noticed his handcuffs were off," Tony says, noticing Thor’s change in expression. "And I was wondering why."

"I had words with my brother," Thor says, and there’s a bite to his voice. "He will not be harming anyone while he is here."

Tony isn’t so easily dissuaded. "How do you know that he won’t? Thor, you’re a great teammate, but we all know where your blind spot is."

Thor looks guarded, his face stony. "That has changed," he says stiffly. "I have since... realized the truth. If he betrays this team, I will kill him."

Tony stares at him and feels a hint of regret. Loki was Thor’s brother, where it counted, but everyone has their breaking point when they give up on a lost cause. It seems like Thor found his in Asgard. "And why is he staying?"

Thor sets his jaw. "He will not leave."

"That doesn’t answer my question," Tony says. He’s making an effort to keep the pointed tone out of his words.

"He will not leave," Thor repeats in a growl. "He is hunted by Thanos. To leave would be suicide."

"And you think you can protect him?" Tony asks, sucking in a breath.

Thor shifts uneasily but doesn’t answer.

"Thor," Tony says, leaning in to stare closely at his face. "We don’t even know how to stop this ourselves."

"Then what do you suggest?" Thor asks, and anger touches his voice. From its position on the bench, Mjolnir hums. "Would you hand him over to our enemy in a fruitless attempt to delay the inevitable?"

Tony’s gaze is hard. “I don’t know. Would it really be fruitless? We’re talking about the destruction of the world in exchange for one guy. Come on—if this was Asgard, what would you do?”

“I will not give up my brother,” Thor hisses, and his face is as dark as a thundercloud. “You are truly foolish if you believe that sacrificing Loki will end Thanos’ desire for death.”

Ah, shit. He’s crossed some invisible line he didn’t know was there, and he knew he was pushing it but he’s obviously gone too far. “Okay,” he says softly, face resigned and blank. “That’s it, then.” He turns to leave, Thor fuming behind him, and calls, “Let me know if you figure out a way to stop Thanos from blowing up the world.”

The door shuts closed behind him with a hiss and he winces slightly. That didn’t go over well. Tony is pretty sure that Thor’s going to be staying in the sparring room for a while. But he doesn’t feel bad about his suggestion. Loki is an enemy, technically a prisoner even though he lost the handcuffs, and Tony hates sacrificing anyone—would rather take the bullet himself for the people he cares about—but if Loki is the only one Thanos wants then he could live with himself. Sort of.

Except that he actually thinks Thor is right. He doubts that Thanos would be appeased if they handed him Loki, but unfortunately the suggestion he voiced was living in the backs of everyone’s minds and someone had to say it.

Tony sighs. He doesn’t exactly know where to go, so he dithers in the hallway for a bit before remembering Bruce and Loki back down in Bruce’s lab. While he doesn’t actually _want_ to go back down there, the two of them are a dangerous combination and not in a good way, so he walks back down the hallway and up the stairs, towards the wing of headquarters where the labs and workshop is. If his gait is a little stiffer and his back more tensed, well, Jarvis is the only one to see him anyways.

Actually, asking Jarvis about his current predicament would be a good idea. “Hey, Jarv, how are Bruce and Loki?”

_“They are fine, sir, though I would highly recommend separating them in the future,”_ Jarvis says, his voice echoing in the empty hallway.

Tony’s eyes widen. “Jarvis, that’s not fine, that’s a red alert. Please make sure they don’t kill each other before I get there.”

_“To be specific, sir, you never asked about their emotional state, only—“_

Tony points at the ceiling, not slowing, and says, “Not one more word, mister. Jesus.”

_“As you wish, sir,”_ Jarvis says, and while he seems amused there’s a thread of worry in his voice. Jarvis is his electronic butler, Tony tells anyone who asks. Really, Jarvis is much more than that, much smarter and much more empathetic, and Tony’s pretty sure Jarvis could take over the world if he wanted.

Jarvis doesn’t speak again on Tony’s short sprint to the lab. He skids to a halt outside the door and types in the passcode hurriedly. The door opens and he walks in to Loki’s taunting, taunting mouth.

“—your precious _scientist,_ ” Loki hisses bitingly, “What was her name? Betty? You think that—”

Bruce’s skin explodes green in the sound of cloth ripping.

“Shit,” Tony mutters, looking at the unfolding scene with paralyzed eyes. The sneering smirk that Loki was wearing before Bruce transformed has vanished, and he’s backing up towards the wall.

The Hulk advances on him slowly, his hands clenched into fists. The tendons and veins stand out against his muscled arms. He spits something, words Tony can’t make out, that make Loki look even whiter against his raven hair. Hulk roars and grabs a metal lab table, upending it and picking it up like it’s a toy. Lab equipment goes crashing to the floor, white sparks flying.

Loki, at first wary, now looks like he’s gearing for a fight. Corner a dog in a dead-end street and it will turn and bite—wasn’t that the Chinese proverb? Tony vaguely recalls... someone telling him that, as an interesting tidbit. And Tony knows that whatever Thor’s threatened him, Loki will inflict as much damage as necessary to escape with his life. Self-preservation instinct, and all that.

Fuck. He’s got to do something.

He unfreezes himself from where his feet have been glued to the concrete, and darts forward in between Loki and the Hulk. He has absolutely no plan whatsoever except to stop this and this is probably going to get him killed, but...

No. No time to think about that. Tony’s in between the Hulk and Loki now, and the Hulk’s angry expression is changing into angry puzzlement.

"Hey, hey, easy, big guy," Tony says desperately, hands held out in a placating gesture in front of him. "Loki’s already a prisoner, okay? You don’t need to smash him."

Hulk moves in an aborted motion to try and get around Tony, and Tony moves with him, staying in front of Loki. The Hulk’s face scrunches up even more in confusion, though his huge green hands are still clenched tight into fists.

"Won’t hurt Tony," Hulk says slowly, through gritted teeth. The table is still poised to fall. "Move. Smash."

"No, no, no," Tony says hastily. "Loki’s not going to hurt anyone. Stop."

Hulk slams down one fist into the ground, leaving a spider web of cracks in the concrete floor. "No! Smash!" He roars.

Tony can feel Loki tensing up like a coiled spring behind him. He squares his shoulders and sets his jaw, taking a step forward. "Hulk," he says quietly. " _Bruce._ Loki isn’t the one who killed Betty. Smashing him won’t change anything."

Hulk stares at him, and his eyes are dark and furious and full of sorrow. He roars again, but it’s broken, and he throws the table he’s still clutching with one hand against the wall. Tony stands unflinchingly as the metal shrieks as it’s crushed, pieces of concrete wall crumbling to the floor. Hulk crumples to the ground, folding in on himself, the green bleeding away to pale skin.

Bruce sits on the floor and gasps.

Tony darts over to him, squatting down next to his kneeling form. "Easy, there," he says calmly, because Bruce doesn’t like to be pitied but he’s too afraid to be saved. Tony looks up, eyes searching for Loki, and sees that the god is staring at him with a startled look on his face. It’s one of the rare times Tony’s seen his face with naked emotion seeping through the cracks of his mask.

Loki stares at him with green, green eyes like he’s a puzzle, a confusing tangle of pieces. Like something that he wants to solve. Tony stares right back, coffee-colored eyes dark with warning. If Loki touches Bruce—touches any of his team—he won’t stop them from raining their full wrath next time. He’ll watch and he’ll fucking cheer.

“Life debt,” Tony says quietly.

Loki nods stiffly and grudgingly, his face shutting down again into its blank mask. He doesn’t leave, however, which surprises Tony—instead he slinks around the edge of the room to where the wreckage of the table is piled on the floor and sits down next to it with his back to the wall, arms draped loosely over his knees.

The three of them don’t move for a while, the room silent except for Bruce’s ragged breathing. Tony sits next to him and waits while Bruce walks himself through some breathing exercises with his eyes shut. Loki stays seated on the floor, even when Tony pulls Bruce up with a murmured, "let’s go" and starts walking him to the door.

Tony looks back to see him contemplating the rest of the room, eyes lingering on the cracked concrete spider web.

"Keep an eye on him, Jarvis," Tony mutters lowly as he leads Bruce out with a hand on his shoulder. "Alert Thor if he so much as looks at anything the wrong way."

Jarvis beeps to confirm, noticing the situation and being discreet.

Speaking of which, where the hell was Thor when they needed him anyways? Tony managed to defuse the situation on his own, this time, but really they should know by now that the only one who can match the Hulk’s strength in straight combat is Thor. At the very least, Thor could have helped move Hulk to the actual Hulk-out room.

Tony built one when Bruce moved in roughly a year ago, after the Battle of New York. The walls are thick concrete reinforced with steel lining the inside and the only door is a heavy metal thing that requires Jarvis to move it—not to mention the huge bar brace that serves as a lock. It’s probably the safest place in the tower, when the Hulk isn’t occupying it, and could basically double as an underground bunker if needed.

Once they’re hopefully out of Loki’s hearing range, Tony asks Jarvis why the fuck Thor didn’t come up when Bruce hulked out. Bruce shrinks a little and passes a hand over his eyes, which are devoid of their usual glasses. Tony winces, because they’re probably lying in shards on the floor of the lab.

_"Mr. Odinson had apparently decided to practice combat with Mjolnir,"_ Jarvis says smoothly. _"As such, he relocated outside. He did not take his communicator."_

Ah, shit. Tony’s really done it this time. Communicators are a big deal, at least with the Avengers, because they all “needed a way to get in touch with each other," as Steve said. Everyone else knows that really, they’re to make sure teammates aren’t dead, but for that reason no one left without their communicator. Ever. Tony had designed it discreetly and stealthily enough so that even Clint and Natasha could have it on their person during covert ops. If Thor left his in the gym then he was either pretty fucking pissed or planned to summon enough lightning to knock out the city.

They run into Steve—literally—as they’re climbing the stairs to the next floor. He barrels around the corner dripping wet without a shirt, obviously coming from a shower upstairs. He managed to put on a pair of loose gym shorts, at least. He’s barefoot too, which is a no-no in lab or workshop space and speaks of how quickly he came down. Tony crashes into his chest and while he normally doesn’t mind a glimpse of Steve’s muscles (appreciate everything and all) it’s like running into a brick wall. Tony falls back on his ass and Bruce stumbles back, clutching his pants up around his hips. The scene would be hilarious if it wasn’t tinged with mortification.

“Tony—Bruce—oh gosh, sorry—are you okay?” Steve nearly yells, hovering over them like he doesn’t know what to do.

Tony groans. There’s totally going to be a bruise on his ass tomorrow. “Yeah, apart from my dignity. Jesus, you should just hit the bad guys with your chest.” He sits up, and now there are wet drippy spots on his shirt where the hair plastered to Steve’s forehead flung water droplets on him. 

“Jarvis told me what happened,” Steve says, and oh look, he’s not even breathing hard. Asshole. “Where’s Loki?”

“As far as I know, he’s still down in the lab,” Tony says tightly. “Thor was outside with Mjolnir. He didn’t take his comm.”

Steve’s worried Crumply Face morphs into something more pointed. “What did you do?”

Tony stares at him, offended. “What makes you think I did anything?”

Steve just gives him a look that clearly states, _don’t mess with me right now_.

Tony clams up, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I didn’t do anything.”

Steve sends a long, searching look in his direction, but he doesn’t press him. Instead he nods, once, and says, “I’m going to go check on Loki. You guys are okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. Bruce is looking between him and Steve curiously, but Tony has no intention of explaining to him the disaster of a conversation that took place in the gym with Thor.

Steve brushes past him, getting water all over the shoulder of Tony’s shirt. He wrinkles his nose. Pushing Bruce forward lightly with his fingertips, Tony starts hustling the both of them up the stairs.

Once they’re clear of Steve and his super-earshot, Bruce asks lowly, “What was that about?”

Tony keeps his gaze fixed ahead. “Nothing,” he murmurs.

Bruce doesn’t believe him. Obviously. Tony wouldn’t believe himself either. But Bruce doesn’t bother him about it, just… lets it go. Tony’s not really surprised; after all, Bruce did just Hulk out and destroy most of his lab. He can tell the guy is shaken—it’s been months since Bruce lost control like that.

He and Bruce take the rest of the journey upstairs in silence. Clint and Natasha are still gone, so they meet no one.

Tony takes Bruce to his room so that he can get some clothes. At least, that was originally why he took him to his room, but as Bruce collapses immediately on the bed, it looks like his plan is going to be thwarted.

“Hey, you okay?” Tony asks, shaking Bruce’s shoulder lightly.

Bruce makes an affirmative noise from where his face is mashed into the pillow, and says something like, “Ima firghs… sleep.”

“Okay, big guy,” Tony says, a hint of wry amusement creeping into his voice. “Call if you need anything.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, too fast asleep to notice when Tony leaves, closing the door gently behind him.

Tony’s thoughts stray back to Loki. Something’s different about him, whether it’s Thor’s "words" with him or something else, but there’s dissonance in how Loki conducted himself today. Yes, provoking the Hulk is something he would do and has done in the past, but letting it go so soon after it was over? He simply sat on the ground next to the ruined table, didn’t say anything, didn’t touch anything. That’s not like the Loki that invaded New York—that Loki would have pressed his advantage.

Tony wants to find out what’s different.

Of course, the only way to find that out would be from Loki, considering that the only other person who might have the slightest clue besides Loki himself is currently outside waving a giant hammer and hopefully not destroying anything.

Actually, Tony doesn’t know that for sure. "Jarvis, what are the locations of the other Avengers and Loki?"

_"Dr. Banner is in his room, as you know. Captain Rogers, Mr. Odinson, and Mr. Laufeyson are all in the lab."_ Jarvis waits a beat before adding, _"I would not recommend going down there, sir."_

"For my safety or theirs?"

_"Both, unfortunately."_

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know what happened to the cohesive team that he was a part of, but right now it sure as hell doesn’t exist. "Okay. I’m gonna go down to the workshop, check up on a few things. Give me some live surveillance when I get there."

_"I would not recommend spying on your teammates, either, sir,"_ Jarvis says, and there’s something like reproach in his voice.

"Should I be worried about what’s going on in there?" Tony asks with a hard edge to his voice. "Anything you’d like to tell me?"

There’s a pause, before Jarvis replies gently, _"There is nothing I cannot or will not tell you, sir, if it is within my reach."_

Tony deflates, picking at the sleeve of his t-shirt. "I know, I know. Just... I don’t know who to trust anymore." What he really means is that he doesn’t know whether to trust Loki, whether he should believe that the world is going to end in a week.

_"Trust your team,"_ Jarvis says, and really, he’s so much more amazing that just a computer program. _"I can assure you that the conversation they are having is not about you, nor anything that you do not know currently."_

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Just tell me that it’s not Thor planning how to kill me."

_"They are, in fact, recapping events about Dr. Banner’s accident, as neither Captain Rogers nor Mr. Odinson were present for the event,"_ Jarvis says lightly. _"However, I can tell you that your life may be in danger from Thor in a few days."_

"What?" Tony asks, alarmed.

_"Your supply of PopTarts is running low. I estimate that it will only last three more days,"_ Jarvis says, and there’s a glint of humor in his voice.

Tony smiles. "Add it to the shopping list." He starts walking, intending to go to the workshop. While he made progress yesterday on his suit, it’s not... done, exactly, and with an insane alien on the loose he wants to be prepared.

Tony goes back down all the stairs, and seriously, he’s going to kill Steve one day—elevators are so much faster, Jesus. Who decided that HQ should have so many floors?

_"You did, sir,"_ Jarvis says. Tony clamps his mouth shut because this whole "voicing internal monologue" is getting really out of hand.

He gets to the workshop floor, which is obviously conveniently on the same floor as Bruce’s lab. He passes by it on his way, stares at the door, and moves on. Jarvis is right. He doesn’t need to get mixed up in that. At all.

Right?

Tony pushes those thoughts away as he comes up to the door of the workshop. Jarvis opens the door for him silently and he walks through, seeing the Mark XIV where he left it, tools and random parts scattered around it. The blue holograph plans are still open next to it where he left them.

"Jarvis, give me some music," he says, because it’s too quiet right now in this room, so close to the lab.

_"Do you have something specific in mind?"_

"Nah, you can choose something," Tony says, looking decisively at the suit.

AC/DC’s Back in Black starts filtering through the hidden speakers, and Tony jerks his head up, startled. He grins. "Jarvis, you nostalgic bastard!" He says affectionately.

_"I try my best,"_ Jarvis replies, and Tony bites his lip through his smile, shaking his head.

"Alright, Jarv," Tony says, rubbing his hands together in preparation. "We’re gonna kill this thing."


	17. Chapter 17

He dives into work, thinking, _there’s no place like home_. Home is grease on his hands and in his hair, arms elbow-deep in a machine.

Yesterday Tony managed to fix up the right arm and gauntlet, but he wasn’t able to work very much on the leg before Jarvis had kicked him out. He starts on the foot piece now, because the repulsor is all fucked up from his trip to the ocean.

"Jarvis," Tony grunts as he tweaks a screw in the boot, "Can you start generating a list of things that can stop bombs or contain the explosion?"

_"In my experience, defusing the bomb seems to work,"_ Jarvis says. Sassy bastard. But he’s already compiling a list, as Tony can see out of the corner of his eye. Sadly, there aren’t many items on it. _"The list is generated for whenever you would like to observe it,"_ Jarvis offers, bringing Tony back to his thoughts.

"When do I ever just ‘observe,’ Jarv?" Tony says, his eyes fixed on the repulsor. If he can just move this wire...

_"Unfortunately, never,"_ Jarvis says. _"It might be a good idea to start."_

Tony just grunts in reply, before letting out a whoop as the foot repulsor flickers once and then comes to life, humming slightly. He sits back, wiping his forehead. That’ll leave a smear. He gestures for the list that’s floating a few feet away from him. "Come on, hit me."

Tony skims the list, eyes narrowed. Defusing, IEDs, water cannons. He reaches the end of the list much, much too quickly. Was that it? He dismisses it with a flick of his fingers, and it disappears.

"Jarvis, none of these can help me when the bomb I’m looking at is the fucking Tesseract," he says, disgruntled.

_"You asked me to look for what could stop a bomb,"_ Jarvis points out. " _While I did understand your true meaning, unfortunately, no being in my knowledge has been able to stop the Tesseract save for the people you are currently living with. Even Johann Schmidt, who studied the Tesseract for many years, was defeated by it when it incinerated him."_

"Johann Schmidt," Tony mutters, grabbing a wrench. He needs to get the outer plating off so he can get to the ankle joint. "But that was—"

_"Red Skull,"_ Jarvis supplies. _"He took an early version of the super-soldier serum that Captain Rogers was injected with, but it had unexpected side-affects. He attempted—"_

"To blow up New York," Tony says. Seems to be a reoccurring theme. "And by the way, the ‘unexpected’ part is a complete understatement. More like freaky-ass insane side-affect."

_"Perhaps you could look into his files,"_ Jarvis says. _"He created Tesseract-powered weapons when he possessed the cube, and thus might have some insight to the Equinox problem."_

"Problem," Tony snorts. " _Apocalyptic_ problem. But actually, that’s a good idea. He was working for HYDRA, right?"

_"Correct. Director Fury currently possesses some of HYDRA’s work, and used it when he was attempting to create his own Tesseract-powered weapons. You might do well to start there."_

Tony shies away from that, grimacing slightly. "He doesn’t like me very much right now. How about..." He reaches down, searching for a crowbar he knows he left lying around somewhere. "Hacking? Jarvis, get me all of SHIELD’s files on HYDRA. Also, while you’re at it, how about running a search through all government databases as well?"

_"Now that the Avengers are in partnership with SHIELD, shouldn’t you have moved past this phase?"_ Jarvis asks wryly. The list pops up, file names flashing by too fast for Tony to read.

"Don’t think that’s ever going to happen," Tony grunts, prying up the ankle covering and jerking back as it pops off unexpectedly. He ducks as it goes flying past him, clattering somewhere behind him, but the sound is lost in the loud music. "Hey, Jarvis, what’s going on with the gang in Bruce’s lab?"

_"They have left,"_ Jarvis says, stopping Tony from where he’s now working on getting off the calf plating _. "Mr. Odinson is with Mr. Laufeyson in the gym. Captain Rogers has gone back to his quarters, presumably to finish getting dressed.”_

"Yeah, that’s probably a... good idea," Tony says, breathing hard as he strains to get the leg open. The screws are all warped, which is why he has to resort to this. “Please tell me none of these are live." He had installed these little grenade thingies into the Mark XIV that would send out a massive EMP signal when detonated, so blowing one up in his workshop would be a bitch.

_"They were deactivated when you crashed,"_ Jarvis says smoothly. _"Though what you are doing currently is probably not extremely safe, either.”_

"Don’t be such a worrier," Tony says, pulling off the plating. Three silver spheres are visible now that the covering is off, and Tony thanks Jarvis silently that there are no blinking blue lights on them. "So what are Thor and Loki doing in the gym? I thought Thor was done with his workout for the day."

_"Apparently not,"_ Jarvis says. _"It seems as though he does not want to leave Loki alone, however, so they are both currently located there."_

Tony shrugs, attention still mostly fixed on extracting the EMP grenades without damaging anything else. The leg is so damaged Tony’s surprised that he hadn’t sustained more injuries when he fell.

He finally pulls out the last one, setting all three carefully onto the table by him. He wipes his hands on his pants and moves the list of holographic files in front of him. "Alright, let’s see what we got here," he mutters.

HYDRA. An organization created by Johann Schmidt and under his leadership back in the 1940s. SHIELD believes that HYDRA found the Tesseract in 1942, though there are no more specific timelines than that. Once they obtained the Tesseract, HYDRA was able to create weapons and technology designed by Dr. Arnim Zola, who had been captured by Schmidt a few years prior. They were eventually defeated by Captain America, yes, he’s heard this part, and Schmidt basically incinerated himself when he used the Tesseract on the plane that he planned to blow up the world with. Cap then put the plane in the ocean—sacrificial dumbass—freezing himself and ensuring that he would wake up in the 21st century. Hallelujah. Tony doesn’t know whether he should be comforted or regretful that his old man didn’t find him before his death.

But that’s not what he’s looking for. He needs to find out how to stop the incoming explosion.

HYDRA made cannons similar to the ones he used against Thor and Loki on the Helicarrier. They also had developed laser guns and rifles capable of vaporizing enemies, along with multiple other ground vehicles with advanced weaponry—and they really loved flamethrowers.

As Tony scans the SHIELD files, he finds something his father didn’t tell him about HYDRA. The fact that they didn’t all die out in the ‘40s with Schmidt’s death. That they had fled to South America and found jobs in developing advanced weapons. That... would have been nice to know, yeah?

He wonders if Steve knows that the organization he practically gave his life to defeat is actually, you know, not defeated.

HYDRA had also made Tesseract-powered grenades that when detonated would release a large explosion that would vaporize anything within a ten-meter radius. Tony drags the file from the list and enlarges it in front of him, moving back a little so that it doesn’t get in way of the suit he’s currently repairing. He narrows his eyes, scanning the file quickly. Grenades. Push a button, throw it, and in eight seconds you have nothing but a circle of ash. There are pictures included and Tony looks at them, clenching his jaw. Bodies inside the blast radius were nothing more than ash.

"Jesus," Tony mutters. He’s no stranger to powerful weapons and their affects—does any of the team actually remember his title as "Merchant of Death?" But he’s picturing the whole world after Thanos is done with it. Looking just like the ground after the Tesseract-powered grenades hit it. Ash and dust.

The piece of information that stands out to him the most, though, is that the grenades were able to contain the Tesseract’s power in the first place. Granted, the energy they contained wasn’t very much, especially since in a couple weeks they’ll be dealing with cosmic-type power, but it’s a start. Tony’s first guess would be adamantium, but since that was created as an attempt to replicate Cap’s shield, there’s no chance HYDRA would have been able to have it at that time. The only other super-strong materials he knows of are vibranium, which the shield is made of (though there may be some other stuff in there—he’s not sure, Steve hasn’t ever let him examine it) and uru or whatever it is in Thor’s hammer. Unfortunately, vibranium is rare as shit and the only place he knows it exists is in Steve’s shield and the arc reactor currently sitting in his chest.

So what did HYDRA use to contain the grenades? God knows that they had a lot of vehicles and weapons—they couldn’t have used something extremely rare, or they wouldn’t have had enough supplies for all of their soldiers.

Unfortunately, all of HYDRA’s notes were handwritten in journals. When SHIELD found them, they scanned them into their databases, but there are still pages and entire books missing. It’s possible that Schmidt or Zola had put in a note on what materials they used, but it’s as good as gone now. Tony would ask Steve but it’s unlikely that he would know the exact type of metal used.

He turns back to SHIELD’s files on the Tesseract-powered weapons that they had created. Tony knows he’s already seen them but he goes over them again, hoping against hope that they’ll tell him something new.

So far, no luck. Tony sighs, sitting back on his heels. It seems like SHIELD didn’t even trust their own database to house how to fully create the Tesseract weapons, which is a smart move on their part—if he had that shitty of digital security, he wouldn’t trust it either.

Well. He didn’t want to call the Director, because he’s sure to get a thorough disemboweling through the phone, but he needs to know what metal it is.

But still... it’s Fury. They get along sort of functionally during battle—or, you know, huge world crises—but any other time they’re snapping at each other’s throats. Tony doesn’t trust him, not at all, especially after Coulson, but—

Wait. Coulson.

"Jarvis, give me Coulson on the phone."

Coulson picks up after the first ring _. "What do you want, Stark?"_ He asks shortly.

"Coulsey!" Tony says gleefully. He can never resist... well, "antagonizing" him might be an understatement. "I was wondering about a few things. Where are you?"

_"Next time you call me that I’ll personally poison your breakfast. Why do you want to know?"_

"I told you, I have a few questions. Come on, give me something."

_"I’m on the Helicarrier. Where else would I be? The last few days have been an absolute shitstorm, and you don’t even have to deal with the paperwork."_ Coulson sounds as bitingly bland as always.

"I mean _where_ on the Helicarrier. As in, are you in earshot of anyone else, particularly Fury?"

_"Oh, was that you that pissed him off? Watch your health, Stark. You have no idea how much of a pain in the ass he’s being right now. You’ve made him sulk."_

"I did no such thing," Tony says, affronted. "Now, are you alone?"

Tony can hear Coulson’s exhale through the phone, and a click of a door. _"Excluding the fact on how… creepy that sounds, yes,"_ Coulson says.

Rolling his eyes, Tony replies, "You are hardly one to talk about creepiness, Agent I-watched-you-when-you were-sleeping Coulson."

Coulson grits his teeth, loud enough that Tony can hear it. Oops. That’s probably not a good thing. _"Just ask your questions,"_ he says placidly. _"I don’t know how long I’ll ‘be alone’ for."_

"Fine," Tony huffs. "What type of metal did you use to build the Tesseract weapons?"

There’s a beat of silence on the other end that almost seem surprised. Tony fidgets with a screw on the floor, twirling it around his fingers.

_"Why do you want to know?"_ Coulson asks cautiously.

"Because there’s a bomb going off in six days called the Tesseract, and unless you have something else planned, I’m going to try and figure out how to stop it," Tony says, a bit snappishly. He can’t help it—he’s strung tight as a wire with anticipation and the dread of waiting for the threat to come to them. "I hacked into all of your files and there’s nothing on the materials you used."

Coulson sighs, and shifts the phone slightly. _"Look, Tony,"_ he says, voice low, and that’s when Tony knows that it’s serious. Coulson never calls him Tony. _"The fact that you hacked our files is the whole reason why we don’t have it on the electronic database in the first place. We can’t have that knowledge falling into the wrong hands."_

"SHIELD _stole_ the knowledge from the wrong hands," Tony growls. "You know HYDRA was the first organization to harness the power of the Tesseract successfully, and SHIELD based the designs off theirs."

_"If you hacked SHIELD’s files on the Tesseract you probably found HYDRA,"_ Coulson says. _"You should know that they didn’t leave any record of materials in their files either."_

"So then how did you do it?" Tony asks, frustrated. This conversation is going around in circles. "SHIELD obviously discovered how HYDRA did it or they developed a new strategy. What was it?"

Coulson sucks in a long breath and says, _"I’m not even supposed to know; it’s classified for everyone but Fury and the Council. All of the scientists who knew about it are dead. Do you understand what I am trusting you with here?"_

"Yes," Tony says slowly, because Fury and the Council? They’re pretty high up the ranks. If all other scientists are dead it was probably intended.

_"Good. We used adamantium."_

"Okay—" Tony starts, because that would have been fucking useful to have five minutes ago and Coulson could have just given it to him without arguing, but—

_"No, here’s the thing,"_ Coulson cuts him off. _"The adamantium didn’t actually work. It contained it, yes, for a short period of time, but the Tesseract’s power was too volatile. The weapons would work for a few days and then start disintegrating into radioactive material. It wasn’t safe."_

"Shit," Tony breathes. "So you’re telling me that there’s no material that you know of that can contain the Tesseract?"

_"As of now, no,"_ Coulson says tiredly. _"And Phase Two was a huge deal—Fury dug up everything he had on HYDRA and what they used, and he didn’t find anything. Thor took it back to Asgard after New York in some sort of capsule thing, but we were never able to find anything like it—Thor said that it was heavily enchanted by the Allfather himself. Selvig suspected that vibranium might be able to contain it, but as the only source we know of is the Captain’s shield and your nightlight, we obviously weren’t able to get our hands on some."_

Tony’s hand unconsciously finds the arc reactor that’s hidden beneath the patch on his shirt and he drums his fingers against it nervously. It sounds like nothing will work against the Tesseract.

Coulson speaks again, distracting Tony from his thoughts. _"I know that Fury said that he was going to have SHIELD take a look at it—about how to stop this—but honestly, Tony, I don’t know if we’re even allowed."_ His voice has gone down to a whisper. _"Fury forbade everyone who knows from breathing a word of it to anyone. Hell, 99% of the people on this ship don’t have a clue. The Council was notified, and you know what their answer to everything is."_

"They’re going to try and nuke it," Tony says dully. "If they manage to stop the Tesseract they’re going to cause World War III."

_"Tony, you’re our best option for finding another way,"_ Coulson says urgently. _"The Council has taken to monitoring every SHIELD outpost, and while I know this phone is clean you have to be careful on what you say to anyone else. You won’t be getting any help from SHIELD; don’t trust any of our agents."_

"What about Barton and Romanoff?" Tony says, and if his tone is a touch cold, well, Coulson knows why.

Coulson pauses and Tony can tell that he noticed how he used their last names. " _I know that you’ve had issues with them in the past, but I promise you that they’re on your side. Trust Natasha and Clint. The only way we’re going to get through this is if you guys—"_

Tony sits forward, alarmed.

An empty beeping and the words, "call ended" are all that’s left of Coulson’s reply.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

"Oh, shit," Tony mutters, fingers flying across the holographic keyboard. "Jarvis, can you try and get him back?"

_"It appears that he has shut off his phone, sir. I suspect that someone interrupted your conversation and forced him to hang up. I am unable to reach him specifically. Would you like me to try the Helicarrier’s main line?"_

"No!" Tony all but yells. "You heard him; the Council has everything bugged. And even if they didn’t... I don’t trust SHIELD."

_"Are you sure that you can trust Agent Coulson? After all, he is part of SHIELD as an organization,"_ Jarvis says cautiously.

Tony scowls. "He died for us," he reminds Jarvis. "Granted, it wasn’t permanent, but over the past year he’s been more on the Avengers’ side than SHIELD’s. Between Fury and him it’s not a hard decision." Tony leans back, rubbing a hand worriedly along his jawline. "Shit, I hope he didn’t get caught. This is my fault, I called him."

_"Agent Coulson answered the phone,"_ Jarvis points out. _"He was not forced to. I believe that the rest of the team would like to hear his message, however."_

"What, that SHIELD might be compromised?" Tony asks. He winces. "Yeah, that’s... probably useful information to have. Can you call them down?"

_"Certainly, sir."_ There’s a beat of silence before Jarvis says, _"I have notified them. Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner are both on their way. Mr. Odinson is with Mr. Laufeyson. Should I let them in?"_

Tony eyes the currently-empty door warily, before waving Jarvis an affirmative. "Sure, it’s not... I mean, Loki isn’t going anywhere."

It sounds more like Tony’s trying to convince himself and he grimaces slightly. This whole day—actually these last few days—have been all fucked up. They may not even survive until doomsday if the week continues at this rate.

Steve comes in first, probably because of the whole super-metabolism thing. At least this time he’s fully dressed, even if it is in grandpa clothes. He’s wearing khakis and a grey t-shirt, which Tony guesses isn’t horrible considering some of his other outfits, but still… _khakis_. Steve opens his mouth, probably intending to start demanding an explanation, but Tony cuts him off.

"I’ll explain when everyone else is here," Tony says, and something in his voice makes Steve reconsider him and nod.

Next in are Thor and Loki, who come in like a freight train. Well, a freight train split in two and attempting to kill the other half, maybe. Like they’re going towards each other on the train tracks—

And Tony will stop now, his analogies never make sense anyway. Thor seems to have calmed down a bit from when Tony last spoke to him, but there’s still a crackle of electricity every time his hair moves. He’s standing slightly behind Loki, as if to make sure that he doesn’t move anywhere. The pink animal thing is no longer adorning his head, and Tony hopes fervently that it hasn’t gotten into the workshop or something. Maybe it was electrocuted.

Loki looks like a muted version of himself, the normally vibrant green of his eyes looking washed out and colorless as glass. He walks without resistance in front of Thor, and while the handcuffs are still absent from his pale wrists it’s obvious how restrained he is. Loki still seems bristly with Thor, however, the air tense between them. His gaze sharpens and focuses his not-right eyes on Tony with a keen glance.

Thor opens his mouth as Steve did when he walked in, but Tony’s saved from having to shut him up when the hiss of the door signals Bruce’s arrival. Bruce walks in with his glasses clutched in one head, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. His curly hair is disheveled, sticking up in all directions like a hedgehog.

"Whas goin’ on?" Bruce says through a yawn.

"Sorry for waking you up," Tony says sheepishly, because that whole conversation with Coulson couldn’t have taken more than 20 minutes. "I called Coulson."

Steve’s brow furrows. "Why?"

Tony waves him off. "I was doing some research and needed to ask him some questions. But that’s not the point, he... actually, it’s probably better if you hear it from him. Jarvis, can you play the recording—start right before he gets to the good stuff.”

_"Of course, sir,"_ Jarvis says quietly, before the recording starts playing.

Tony can see Steve’s face getting progressively tighter as the phone call plays. Bruce suddenly looks a lot more awake and a lot more concerned. Thor’s already tetchy face starts growing darker and darker, and when the recording ends abruptly—with Coulson’s hanging up—an arc of electricity leaps from Mjolnir at his hip to a nearby table. The mood is too somber for Tony to protest it.

Loki has been flicking his eyes around the room for the duration of the recording, and when he turns his eyes back to Tony he can see green bleeding into the previously washed out color. Loki doesn’t look extremely affected by the recordings, but he looks as though he’s teetering the line between impassive and unsettled.

"Jesus," Bruce says faintly once the recording is finished. He polishes his glasses furiously on the edge of his shirt, which is untucked from where it must have ridden up in his sleep.

"That’s one way to put it," Tony says grimly.

"So SHIELD—" Steve begins, his face shutting down into the "Captain" mask. Even with his face closed off he looks a little bit sick. It makes sense, Tony figures, because even after the nuke fiasco in New York Steve still hadn’t given up on SHIELD. He had tried working for them for a month or so after the Battle of New York before Tony had coaxed him into moving into the newly built mansion.

"—Is compromised," Tony finishes for him. "And as far as we know, all contact we have with the Helicarrier is monitored by the Council."

Thor opens his mouth, but Loki beats him to the punch. "What is this ‘Council?’” He asks, and even though he currently looks like shit he’s still able to muster a haughty expression.

Steve exchanges a glance with Tony, but honestly, he doesn’t really care right now. Hopefully Loki will go blow them up. "They’re the bunch of holier-than-thou assholes who lord over the rest of SHIELD and make all of the important decisions, including sending in a fucking nuclear warhead into a civilian zone with millions of people when they can’t think if a better option to defeat aliens," Tony says flatly, a snarl touching his voice.

Loki looks faintly surprised at his vehement response, but dips his head in dismissal of the topic. Really, Tony couldn’t be happier—while Fury is a pain in the ass at the best of times, the Council is a hundred times worse.

"Back on topic," Steve says with a pointed glance at him. Tony makes a face. "Does Fury know that we’re suspicious of SHIELD? Is he with the Council or being forced to comply with orders?"

Tony picks up one of the dead grenades and turns it over in his hands, the polished silver sphere catching the light. He notices absently that Loki’s gaze flicks down to it in interest. "I don’t know, Cap," Tony says honestly. He rakes his free hand through his hair savagely, frustrated. "Just because Fury ordered that information on the Equinox is classified and highly confidential doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s the one who decided it. For all we know, he could be just as monitored and controlled by the Council as the rest of SHIELD is."

Steve grimaces. "So our one man inside is Coulson."

"He may not be inside for very long," Bruce points out quietly. He looks tired. "The end of the call—he could have gotten found out."

The room falls silent, the music having shut off when Tony made his call. He rolls the grenade between his thumb and forefinger.

"What about the updates?" Steve asks finally, breaking the silence, a worried look etching itself onto his face. "Fury required that we give him daily updates on anything we found relating to the Equinox problem. If he’s on the Council’s side, then we can’t have him realizing that we’ve caught on to something—we’ll expose Coulson."

Tony frowns, biting his lip. He hadn’t thought of that.

Loki is watching him, his wrong-pale eyes drawn to Tony’s mouth. Tony coughs self-consciously and Loki turns his head away so he can only see the sharp line of his profile. His jaw is clenched into a tight line.

Tony dismisses the enigma that is Loki and turns back to the conversation at hand. "We’re just going to have to keep giving him the updates," Tony declares, a hint of tiredness creeping its way into his voice. "Just... whoever gives him the updates—don’t let on too much. Give him enough of the truth that he’ll be satisfied, but nothing that you think the Council will take a huge interest in."

"The Council’s not going to take interest in anything that’s not their ‘nuke and destroy’ plan," Bruce says sharply. "We’re supposed to be the ones who’ll ‘save the world,’ but none of us know what we’re doing; we’re flying just as blindly as everyone else."

Tony is a little stunned by Bruce’s cynicism and sees that Steve looks taken aback as well. He covers it up quickly, but Bruce notices anyway, and a flicker of some emotion crosses his face.

"I’m sorry," he says quickly, and now he’s back to normal Bruce, eyes remorseful. "That was uncalled for."

"His argument is valid," Thor rumbles, a glint of something like regret in his eyes. "We do not have a plan nor do we have any inkling on how to stop this threat."

"I’m figuring something out," Tony promises, and he resolves to finish this. For the fucking team. "I will find a way to stop this. Just... give me some time."

"Not something we have huge quantities of right now," Bruce says with a weak laugh. "But..." He shakes his head, an unreadable expression crossing his features.

Steve straightens his already ramrod-straight posture, something absolutely certain and resolved setting his face into sharp angles. "No, Tony, you shouldn’t have to do this alone. We have six days; that’s way more time we had before New York. I’m still technically registered as an agent of SHIELD. I’ll take a trip to the Helicarrier, talk to Coulson and Fury. We’ll see this through."

Tony manages a smirk and stands up, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “Alright, team,” he proclaims. “We have a plan. Bruce, once you’re rested, with me. We have some data to analyze.” He stares at Loki shrewdly. “Loki, I’ll forward you a copy of the Tesseract locations—you know Thanos best, maybe you’ll pick something up that we won’t.”

Bruce and Steve look at him in unison, surprised expressions on their faces. Tony shrugs in a “what can you do” motion. Loki’s eyebrows furrow slightly, as if he’s confused about Tony’s motives. To be honest, Tony’s kind of surprised at himself, but then again—he’s reckless and unpredictable.

Thor cuts off his thoughts with a boom. “I shall talk to Jane,” he says. “Perhaps she can grant some insight.”

Tony nods, his mind already spinning through what else they need to do. He wishes Clint and Natasha were with them. “Good idea. Steve, how fast can you get to the Helicarrier?”

Steve tilts his head, considering. “Not sure,” he says. “Depends on where they are. I’m pretty sure that I could get there by tonight, but I doubt they’d talk to me until tomorrow morning.”

“So head out first thing tomorrow,” Tony says, fingers curling around the grenade. “Everyone get some rest tonight; tomorrow’s crunch time. We’re going to figure this out.”

Quiet sounds of agreement reach him, or, in Thor’s case, loud sounds. Bruce troops out, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Tony hopes he’ll go get more sleep—judging by Bruce’s walk, he’s exhausted.

Steve is next to leave, he shaking his head with a fond smile and muttering something about egotistical geniuses. Thor follows soon after and his face isn’t as angry as before—instead it’s carved with a considering frown as he heads out through the open door.

Loki turns to leave as well, the sharp lines of his back cutting an impressive figure in the workshop.

“Hey,” Tony calls, making Loki pause in the threshold. He rubs the grenade with his thumb, the smooth metal gliding underneath his fingertip like liquid. “Catch.”

He tosses the sphere towards Loki, who catches it reflexively before staring at it warily.

“What is this?” Loki asks, turning the grenade over in his palm.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” Tony says with a smile, turning back to the leg of the Mark XIV that he still has to finish. He sits down on a stool and lifts up the foot of the suit so it’s at his eye level. “No cheating. Jarvis, you can’t help.”

_“Duly noted, sir,”_ Jarvis says dryly. Tony scowls as he examines the boot. The repulsor is correctly connected, but the casing around the foot and the ankle joint are both out of whack, leaving it unusable. Tony sighs—whether he chooses to go back to the data or repair his suit he has a lot of work to do.

“Don’t get funny with me, J,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. Loki is still standing, nonplussed, in the doorway. Tony ignores him—he’s not going to let Loki’s presence muddle his focus.

He’s about to start realigning the joint when Loki speaks, making him knock over an oil-stained rag that was lying on the table next to him.

“The light in your chest is gone,” Loki says thoughtfully, paying no heed to the rag now lying on the floor. Tony picks it back up.

“It is,” Tony says cautiously, his head bent over the suit’s ankle. The joint is out of line and stiff, not responding to any sensor commands.

“What happened to it?”

“I ate it, dickwad,” Tony says absently.

Loki narrows his eyes at Tony’s mocking tone. Good to see that not all of the fight has left him. “I don’t think it’s that simple, Anthony,” he says. The grenade is still clutched tightly in his hand and the hint of a smile is touching the corners of his mouth. “Why did you cover it up?”

If Loki notices Tony’s slight flinch, he doesn’t let on. Damn. He hoped that Loki, with his limited knowledge of Earth’s technology, wouldn’t realize that he arc reactor stayed with him at all hours. He doesn’t want Loki to realize that the arc reactor is his weak spot.

“Do your teammates not approve of it?” Loki muses. Sharply, he looks at Tony, who notices that the vivid green of his normal eye color has seeped around the edges of his iris, darkening the unnatural paleness he sported earlier. “No, that cannot be. They made no comment either way.” Loki rubs two long fingers along his sharp jaw thoughtfully, and Tony finds himself tracking the motion. “I do not know whether or not your public ‘fanbase’ knows, but as you haven’t seen them today, you must be hiding it from... me.”

The shark grin is back on Loki’s face, betraying no hint of the subdued figure he showed when the rest of Tony’s teammates were around.

“Or I just picked up a shirt that happened to be this one,” Tony says offhandedly, watching Loki carefully.

“Forgive me if I do not believe you,” Loki says, and while the smile has receded there’s still a satisfied expression on his face. He turns to face Tony squarely with a sharp turn of his feet, and bows mockingly.

“Thank you for your time,” he says quietly, and Tony is left dumfounded as Loki waltzes out the door and out of his sight.

Okay, the whole “out of sight, out of mind?” Doesn’t actually fucking work when he wants it to.

Preoccupied by his thoughts, which all seem to revolve around Loki, he nearly solders one of his fingers before Jarvis calls at him to let him know that Loki’s now with Thor.

“Sorry, Jarvis,” Tony says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He looks down at his fingers and winces at the close save before pulling some gloves on. “I was distracted.”

_“I gathered that, sir,”_ Jarvis says dryly. _“You did hear my message, did you not?”_

“Yeah, thanks,” Tony murmurs, his attention already drawn back to the stupid ankle joint. He thinks he’s going to have to dismantle the whole thing; he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do repairs on it when it’s still attached to the rest of the leg.

Tony works on repairs for the rest of the day and into the night, works until his fingers are either raw or covered in grease, until Jarvis kicks him out again, saying, _“You said it yourself, sir—tomorrow is ‘crunch time.’”_

Tony laughs when he hears Jarvis say that in his posh English accent and wonders when he started allowing his AI to bully him around so much. If he’s a touch delirious, well, that’s probably just proving Jarvis’ point. He gives an absentminded instruction to try reaching Clint and Natasha again, but it hasn’t worked yet and he doubts it’s gonna start now.

He crashes in his bed upstairs, because he makes the mistake of going out of the workshop to discuss the high-calorie paste he invented (he needed something that he could eat fast in between missions, but Jesus, the taste is horrible) with Bruce, who had relocated back to the lab a few hours earlier. When he tried to get back in, Jarvis had locked him out, giving him the “crunch time” message. Tony could see Bruce laughing at him through the window until Jarvis kicked him out, too, and then it was reversed and Tony was the one laughing his ass off while Bruce scowled.

All in all, it’s not a bad way to end the day, even if it means that when he wakes up the Equinox will only be five days away. He falls asleep with the knowledge that they’ve got a plan, his suit’s fixed, and the color’s coming back to Loki’s eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

Tony sleeps, a nightmare waking him up around one in the morning that he manages to chase away. This time it’s hot desert and too-small caves with water rushing up his nose and he wakes up gasping, but there’s no freaky invasions of Tesseract-blue, which he’s grateful for. Gotta appreciate the small things and all that.

He wonders if the nightmares will ever stop.

Jarvis wakes him up at a more reasonable time in the morning to see Steve off to the Helicarrier. Tony hurriedly throws on jeans and a black undershirt with an AC/DC t-shirt layered on top. Looking down, he realizes it’s actually not enough to cover the arc reactor—figures—so he shrugs on a black hoodie and zips it up, thanking the fact that it’s autumn so he (hopefully) won’t roast.

Tony does take the time to brush his teeth, which is unusual, but he can’t stand the taste of his breath after trying all the variations of the calorie paste last night. Jarvis reminds him that Steve’s about to leave, so he rinses quickly and sprints upstairs, where Jarvis tells him the team is gathered on the roof.

Steve is dressed in a white tee and a dark blue jacket that accentuates his broad shoulders. His shield is slung over one shoulder, glinting in the weak sunlight of early morning. A duffel is clutched in his other hand.

Bruce looks like he didn’t get a lick of sleep, even after Jarvis kicked him out of his lab, and it’s obvious that he came out in his pajamas—sweats and a faded Culver University hoodie, which Tony is surprised he’s been able to keep after all these years. He’s clutching a thermos of tea like his life depends on it, looking bleary-eyed.

Thor looks exactly the same as he did last night, which makes Tony wonder if Thor got any sleep, either. Loki at his side looks impeccable, but there’s an irritated look on his face—seems as though Loki isn’t a morning person.

Steve is muttering something in Bruce’s ear, raising his voice when the black helicopter Tony had sort-of spotted in the distance hovers over the heli-pad that they’re standing on. The wind whips through the air, blowing Bruce’s curls askew and whipping strands Thor and Loki’s hair across their faces.

The helicopter touches down slowly, the wind raised by the blades rippling their clothes. Tony shrinks down into his hoodie, the collar zipped all the way up past his mouth, and is grateful that he chose to wear it today, because the wind is cold as balls. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets.

Steve clutches the duffel bag that he has with him tight. Loki’s previously irritated expression starts morphing into “murderous,” but before he can start killing all of them the chopper blades slow down and the pilot—a masked, stereotypical SHIELD agent—calls out for “Captain Rogers.”

Said Captain nods, claps Bruce on the shoulder after finishing his message, and turns to the rest of them. “Hopefully I’ll be back tomorrow or the day after,” he says, his gaze traveling over all of their wind-ruffled forms. “Don’t destroy anything while I’m gone.” He gives probably the best smile he can produce given the circumstances, and Tony appreciates the valiant effort.

“No worries, Cap,” he says, a half-smile twisting up one corner of his mouth. “We’ll be fine.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Sure,” he says, but there’s an undertone of laughter in his voice. He moves to the copter, carrying the duffel effortlessly. The pilot yells something again, probably along the lines of _move your ass,_ and Steve holds back against rolling his eyes before stepping inside.

“I’ll call when I can,” Steve shouts from inside the chopper as the blades start whirring again. Tony squints, his eyes watering from the wind, and the helicopter door closes, Steve vanishing from sight.

The roof is left in an eerie sort of silence after the chopper is gone, and Tony sighs. Back to work. He turns to Bruce, noting the man’s stubble and bloodshot eyes.

“You look like shit,” Tony tells him. Bruce looks subtly offended.

“Thanks,” he says, an exasperated tone to his voice.

“No, seriously—go back to sleep. I can handle the data myself for a few hours,” Tony says. Thor and Loki have already started heading back in to go to who knows where. Maybe Thor’s going to call Jane, if he hasn’t already. And that reminds Tony—he still has to forward the data to Loki. Whoops.

He puts his mind back on the task at hand when Bruce replies wryly, “Sure you can. But...” he hesitates, before giving Tony a small smile as they start following Thor and Loki off the roof. “Give me an hour and I’ll be good. I’m not much of a help when I’m like this.”

“You’ll always be a help to me,” Tony mock swoons as they walk down the stairs. “Only you can fix my broken heart, doctor!”

Bruce just raises his eyebrows. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Tony smacks him on the shoulder affectionately. “You know you love me.” His attention is pulled away when he sees Loki in front of them. “Wait a sec, I just gotta... do something.”

He bounds away from Bruce, catching up to Loki in the hallway. Loki looks up, irritated, and growls, “Leave me, Anthony.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “Never did like that name. I still have to forward you the list of locations Amora visited when she had the Tesseract, but you don’t have anything to forward things to. So...” He darts away quickly as they reach the common room, and picks up a tablet lying on the coffee table. “Use this. Obviously you’re not allowed free reign of the Internet or anything, but at least I can send you some shit.”

He presents the tablet to Loki, who looks at it bemusedly and takes it from him cautiously, swiping an experimental finger across the screen. It lights up with blue holographs, casting his sharp cheekbones into cerulean light.

“You’re welcome,” Tony says, slightly pointed. He’s noticed that Loki doesn’t like to say thank you, doesn’t like to admit when he needs something.

Loki’s face is puzzled. “I shall use this,” he says stiffly. Tony rolls his eyes.

“Sure, whatever,” he mutters, and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m going back down to the workshop. Tell me if you find anything.”

Loki’s lip curls, probably at the idea of reporting to anyone, but he doesn’t say anything. Hopefully that means that Loki will actually tell him something, but Tony isn’t holding his breath.

Tony heads to the kitchen to catch a quick bite of food that’s not calorie paste. Does calorie paste even count as food anyways? He’s greeted by Thor, who waves a PopTart-filled hand at him. Ah, so that’s why he was so eager to get away from the roof. Tony’s... not really surprised.

He ends up eating a piece of toast with jam on it because someone left the bread out—probably Thor again—and isn’t disappointed when Loki doesn’t show up. Not at all.

Tony makes sure Jarvis knows about what Loki is allowed to have access to and what he can’t but ends up just disconnecting the tablet from everything except the things Tony’s sent directly to Loki. He goes back down to the workshop and tinkers a little bit because he’s a procrastinator and doesn’t want to work on their actual problem—though he does have half-formed solutions running through his head constantly. How to stop the Tesseract, how to contain the Tesseract’s power so it doesn’t fuck everything up, how to find out where Thanos is going to detonate the thing, how, how, how.

The suit’s done now, though, so that’s something. He asks Jarvis to run the data for any possible hidden codes in Amora’s chosen locations, and while that’s going Bruce ends up coming down to the workshop.

“Find anything yet?” Bruce asks. He looks a lot more awake and freshly shaved, which reminds Tony that he himself probably needs to get cleaned up soon. Bruce has changed out of his pajamas and into slacks and a burgundy-colored shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There’s another mug of tea clutched in his hand.

“Not yet,” Tony says, gaze fixed on the plans for a new set of arrows he was planning on giving Clint later on. He thinks harshly that if they stay away much longer he might use them to stab Clint instead. “I forwarded the info to Loki though. Gave him a shiny new toy.”

“Which is...?”

“StarkPad. I think it’s one of the older versions,” Tony says absently.

Bruce looks incredulous. “You gave him a link to all of your files?”

“No, Jesus. I revoked—well, Jarvis knows. He won’t be able to get anything except what I send him.”

Bruce paces quickly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Tony spins the holographic projection of the poison-tipped arrow he’s working on serenely. Bruce walks toward him quickly, saying, “You are the most idiotic person I have ever met. I don’t know what you’re thinking but—“

Tony turns to face him. “Bruce, he knows more about this than any of us. He can help.”

Bruce looks down and mutters something before turning on his heel and walking over to an open holograph panel and Tony silently transfers some of the Tesseract location logs to him. Bruce unfolds his glasses and shoves them on, scrolling down the list with a strange kind of urgency. It’s not _anger,_ because he has better control than that, but he seems… irritated.

Bruce stops and sighs, pushing his glasses up to scrub at his eyes quickly. “Tony, Loki may be an asset, but the risk outweighs any helpful information he’s willing to give, if there even is any. And, this sounds like something Steve would say,” Bruce grimaces, settling his glasses back on his nose, “But we’re a team. You can’t just… make all the decisions on who to trust on your own.”

Tony stares at him, aghast. “I wouldn’t—Bruce, you know I wouldn’t do _anything_ to endanger the team,” he says. “We just have limited time and he seems to know about it, that’s all. You know that I wouldn’t—“

“I know,” Bruce says, looking down at the holograph list ashamedly. “That’s not what I meant. Just—let’s drop it. Forget I said anything.”

“Done,” Tony says immediately, but something uneasy settles in the pit of his stomach.

Bruce and he work in silence until Jarvis speaks quietly.

_“Dr. Banner, sir. I apologize for interrupting, but I do believe you would like to be informed of recent events.”_

“How many times have I said to call me Bruce?” Bruce mutters under his breath.

At the same time, Tony gestures with his hand, motioning for the data list (which he finally pulled up, yes, he’s _aware_ of how long that took) to expand and for Jarvis to keep talking.

 _“Agents Barton and Romanoff have arrived via taxi. They are currently in the front entryway_ ,” Jarvis says calmly, as if he’s unaware of the weight of his message.

Tony bolts to his feet, Bruce whipping around next to him.

“What, and they didn’t notify anyone? Hasn’t anyone told them that it’s nice to call ahead?” Tony says, his mouth running on autopilot while he tries to process the information. They’re _back_ , after… actually, he guesses that it was only a few days. But still, it’s a fucking big deal, to leave in the middle of the world ending.

 _“To be fair, sir, they live here,”_ Jarvis says, bringing Tony back from the whirlwind of his thoughts.

“Rude,” Tony mutters absently. “Absolutely appalling manners.”

Bruce turns to him. “Talk about pot and kettle,” he says pointedly.

Tony flaps a hand at him. “You, you—you shut up.”

Bruce’s mouth quirks at the corners, but he sobers when Jarvis opens the doors. “Right,” he says reluctantly. “Guess we have to catch them up.”

Tony mutters, “Would serve them right not to know anything,” but he follows Bruce out the open doors. 

When they reach the main floor, Tony blinks and thinks that he’d like to be downstairs. Bruce actually does decide to go downstairs, or at least wait in the hallway, because the scene in front of them… is a clusterfuck.

Clint has his bow drawn, an arrow with what Tony recognizes as an “explosive” tip poised to fly. He’s practically howling at Loki, and Tony thinks dumbly that while they notified Clint and Natasha about the fact that Loki came through the mirror, they didn’t tell them that he was here to stay.

Here to stay. Holy shit.

Tony pushes that admittedly disturbing through out of his mind, because Natasha looks ready to kill and Clint has Loki sitting pinned against the couch, a wild look in his eyes.

“What the hell is he doing here? What the hell?” Clint snarls, his voice a touch hysterical.

Natasha is covering his back, both knives drawn. She’s more controlled than Clint, but she is eyeing them warily and definitely not letting her guard down. Thor has Mjolnir raised threateningly at the two of them, static electricity filling the air and making the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stand up.

“Lay down your arms,” Thor roars.

“I ain’t budging until you tell me what the _fuck_ he’s still doing here,” Clint shrieks over him.

“He’s helping us find Thanos,” Tony says, cautiously edging into the room.

Clint glares at him. “Oh, you finally showed up. He’s _helping us_ ,” he mocks. “Well that makes it all okay. Did he get his claws into you too?” He’s breathing hard, and while his eyes are fierce there’s something shattered in their depths.

“Calm _down_ , Clint,” Natasha growls from his shoulder. She mutters something else in Russian to him that Tony doesn’t catch. He’s been brushing up on his Russian ever since Natasha moved in, but he hasn’t gotten _that_ far. He just gets… distracted. Like now.

Tony hadn’t noticed before, but Loki is wordlessly snarling from his position on the couch, his fingertips glowing. Where one hand is gripping the edge of the seat brilliant green smoke is drifting up faintly from where his fingers look like they’re burning holes in the leather.

“Lay down your arms, Clint Barton,” Thor thunders again, and Tony tastes air before a storm. “I will not ask again.”

Clint stares at him for a long moment, something tight and desperate battling in his face. He lowers his arm slowly, the strained, tense muscles in his arm uncoiling slightly. Natasha sheathes her knives in a quick flash and discreetly presses her shoulder for a second against Clint’s back in reassurance.

Loki hisses out something from between his teeth that makes Clint’s grip go white-knuckled on his bow. His glowing green fingers have dimmed slightly, but there’s still a faint, almost sickly tinge to his hands. He moves his hand and Tony sees that Loki’s mojo had sizzled dark marks resembling cigarette burns into the couch.

Clint very deliberately turns his back on Loki, facing Tony. It surprises Tony for a second that he would let his guard down like that before he realizes that Natasha is still glued to his back, keeping her eyes fixed on the Loki.

“I want to know,” Clint says, and now his voice is dangerously calm, “What the hell is going on.”

“I told you,” Tony says quietly, warningly. Thor is staring daggers at Loki and Clint and the tension in the air is so thick that Tony is glad Bruce is still out of the room. “Considering we have common goals and that no prison SHIELD has come up with can hold Loki, we’re temporarily… working together. We have a week and honestly we need all the help we can get.”

Clint looks confused now, instead of angry. A furrow deepens between his brows and he flicks his eyes to Natasha questioningly.

“A week?” She asks for him.

Tony grimaces and shit, Clint and Natasha have missed a lot. “It...” he starts, and then frowns. They left right after Loki came through the mirror with all the smoke. They haven’t even heard about Amora and Thanos, not to mention the Equinox.

“We found a woman who had one of the Chitauri parasites. Her name was Amora the Enchantress,” Tony begins. He fills them in on everything they missed, Bruce chiming in occasionally from where he’s emerged from the stairwell. Gradually, Clint’s rigid posture relaxes as he listens, but there’s still a stormy look on his face. Natasha’s face is cool and unreadable, but Tony can read unease in the slight tension of her neck and her shoulders.

Loki has stood up smoothly sometime when Tony was talking, the glow in his fingers having faded away completely. Tony spots more of the burn marks on the couch and winces slightly—Pepper is going to kill him. Loki’s face is blank, but his mouth is twisted into a thin line. Seems as though the Avengers aren’t the only ones stressed, then.

Thor is standing uncharacteristically silently, offering no input on the conversation. He looks troubled and there’s a tightness in the corners of his eyes. His hand clenches onto Mjolnir tightly, but the pressing electricity has lessened somewhat.

“Four days until we all die,” Tony says with an insincere smirk on his face, and the two agents flinch.

“So, what,” Clint says, frustrated. “Do we have any leads? Any ideas on what to do? Hell, do we even know where he is?”

Tony focuses his attention on cracking his knuckles one by one in front of him. He doesn’t want to look at Clint. “No,” he says. _Pop, pop, pop._ “I’m working on something to stop the Tesseract from going nuclear, but it’s nothing concrete yet. Loki, Bruce, and I are looking through logs of previous data of where the Tesseract was to try and find a pattern of where Thanos is going to be, but... no progress so far.”

Clint rakes a hand through his short, honey-colored hair, the arrow he previously had in his hand now returned to the quiver at his shoulder. “Basically, you’re saying we’re screwed.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, but concedes. “Pretty much.”

“Wow,” Clint exhales angrily, his eyes darkening. “Wow. This is... fucking awesome.”

Natasha makes a non-committal noise behind him, her arms crossed. From what Tony can see out of the corner of his eye, Bruce just looks uncomfortable, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“What should we do?” Clint asks. He sounds like he’s torn between hostile and hopeful, and Tony remembers that Clint always works better when there’s a goal to strive towards.

Tony snaps his fingers and points at Clint, who looks unimpressed. “That,” he says, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the room. “Is the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

“You already have a million dollars, Tony,” Natasha says dryly.

Tony makes a face. “Fine, it’s the quadruple-zillion dollar question. Happy?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. It’s clear she thinks Tony is an idiot.

“Seriously, Tony,” Clint butts in, for once looking serious. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”

Tony holds up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Don’t look to me, I’m not the leader of this dysfunctional mess.”

“Where is Steve, anyway?” Clint asks.

Oh, shit. Tony didn’t tell them about the clusterfuck that is SHIELD, or Coulson’s call.

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, which is enough time for Natasha’s to narrow and focus on him. Clint looks between them suspiciously, and Tony says lowly, “SHIELD’s been compromised.”

The little bit of humor that had crept into the room with Tony and Natasha’s bickering is gone in a flash of cold air. Clint’s face drains and Natasha’s green-blue eyes widen, which is saying something. Thor and Bruce look away, because they know how this is going to play out. Thanks, guys, leaving him to explain all of the shitty stuff.

Loki, on the other hand, only looks keenly at the three of them.

“Explain,” Clint says, and his voice is hard and sharp-edged.

Tony turns and looks him squarely in the eyes. “I called Coulson,” he starts. “I had some questions about the Tesseract—it’s not important. He... well, Fury had to report the possibility of the Equinox event to the Council. According to Coulson, the Council has every outpost of SHIELD under surveillance. They’re monitoring everything. Also, Fury has apparently forbidden anyone who knows about the Equinox to mention it in front of other agents. That means that the only people in the know right now are Coulson, Fury, Hill, and the Council,” Tony ticks off on his fingers. “No one else in SHIELD has any idea that they all might be dying in a week. The Helicarrier is operating as usual.”

“Fuck,” Clint breathes, and Tony grimaces with him.

“We don’t know if Fury is ordering this because the Council’s told him to or if he’s decided that it’s the best course of action, but either way we can’t assume that he’s trustworthy at the moment. Steve went to check out the Helicarrier, because he’s the only one who technically had agent status without you two here,” Tony says, the last part a little pointedly. Clint has the sense to look abashed, but Natasha just raises one perfectly-shaped eyebrow in defiance.

“We went to Budapest,” Clint says, and the darkness is back in his eyes. “To… you know. Contact. Anyways, this is probably pointless now, but we found these.” He grabs a duffel bag from where it had been sitting unnoticed on the floor and rifles through the contents, which seems to be full of mostly clothes with a few weapons scattered throughout—Natasha’s butterfly knives, some spare clips, a rubber band. He’s surprised they managed to get it all through security.

Clint finally pulls out two bundled up shirts, and Tony’s stomach sinks. He’s pretty sure he knows what’s inside.

Sure enough, Clint unwraps the shirts, blows the sandy dust off the contents with a forced kind of nonchalance, and holds up the Hawkeye and Black Widow Avengers toy prototypes.

When Tony examines them closer, he can see that the Black Widow doll’s head has what looks like a tiny bullet hole in the middle of its forehead, and one in each of its hands. The Hawkeye figurine has all of the fingers cut off on each hand and two clean-cut holes where the eyes should be. The bombings spring back to the forefront of Tony’s mind and he clenches his teeth together tightly. This is so screwed up.

When he glances around discreetly, he sees that he’s not the only one who was struck in the face by the appearance of the two dolls. Bruce’s eyes are wide and dark next to him and he’s polishing his glasses furiously on the edge of his burgundy shirt. Thor’s grip has tightened on Mjolnir once again, and the feeling of static lingering after the confrontation between Clint and Loki comes back full-force, tiny white sparks crackling and snapping in Thor’s hair.

Loki, for once, doesn’t look sneering and sharp. His face is set into a grim mask, mouth tight and pale. In this light, the hollows under his cheekbones look startlingly dark.

“So,” Clint says, but his voice wavers and cracks slightly. He tries again. “So. What’re we doing with this?”

“It is useless,” Loki mutters, so quiet Tony has to strain to hear him. “My most powerful tracking spell could not make a dent in the warding the Tesseract has. The efforts that your mortal magic could produce would be futile.”

Clint looks stung before his face hardens into a stony mask, and Tony wonders what they went through to get the figurines that turned out to be nothing more than a taunt. Natasha stands at his shoulder and her red mouth thins slightly.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Clint says curtly, his eyes piercing, and twists the dolls back into the shirts savagely. He dumps them back into the duffel bag as Loki curls his lip and slinks out of the room, apparently finished with their conversation.

Loki’s departure turns on a switch in Tony’s head, and he snaps back into himself. He feels heavy, like there’s a weight on his shoulders that wasn’t there before, and realizes that the reappearance of the figurines has brought him back to the outside world. Tony hasn’t checked the news, hasn’t checked the stocks—he’s been so preoccupied with the Equinox that he forgot it’s only been a few days since Budapest and Culver University were bombed. And if he knows the media, they’ll have already turned on the Avengers being the cause.

Well, maybe not the cause, per say, but definitely a reason. After all, if Thanos wasn’t targeting the Avengers, then none of those locations would have been destroyed. The hounds will be out for blood.

Tony blinks and turns his wandering attention back to the teammates looking rather lost in the common area. Thor looks torn between going after his brother and staying with the team, while Clint and Natasha are obviously still tense from Loki’s presence.

“We have to keep going,” Tony murmurs. He feels a little light-headed and wonders how they’re going to defeat Thanos when they’re all fraying at the edges. He clears his throat. “You know what? We’re going to work and figure this shit out, and when Steve gets back we’ll have a movie night. It’s Thursday tomorrow anyway.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and snorts. “You always did have the worst timing,” she says, punching him lightly in the arm as she walks past him. He winces, because what constitutes as “light” for Natasha hurts. A lot.

“Steve hasn’t seen the Matrix!” Tony calls after her mock-indignantly. “I don’t care if it’s his turn to choose, we have to watch that.” He turns to Clint. “Come on, back me up here.”

Clint rolls his neck, the muscles in his shoulders flexing underneath his black jacket. The collar is turned up and Tony remembers, hey, it’s freezing here in New York. “I’m game,” he says, and if his voice is still a bit rough Tony doesn’t comment. The dark shadows in his eyes seem to have receded a bit with the conversation. “Haven’t seen the Matrix in a while. Are you sure Steve is going to be back by tomorrow, though?”

Tony hesitates, because that’s the only hiccup in his “re-motivating the team” plan. “I think so?” He tries. Seeing Clint’s disbelieving look, he sighs. “Don’t know. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be. I’ll call him tonight.”

Clint nods, slowly. “Okay.”

Natasha pops her head in from where she’d evidently been waiting in the hallway. “Are you finished? God, Clint, you’re slower than one of Coulson’s rookies.”

“No way, there was that one guy with the blond hair—Richard, I think—come on,” Clint protests. He picks up the duffel bags reluctantly before stopping abruptly. “I don’t want these,” he says lowly, pulling out the wrapped dolls and nearly flinging them at Tony.

Tony catches them reflexively, looking down to see a plastic black-booted foot peeking out from underneath the grey shirt. He covers it up hastily and turns his gaze back to Clint with an incredulous expression on his face.

Clint notices and holds his hands up in surrender. “I don’t want them,” he says. His eyes look more grey than blue right now, like chips of flint. “Study them, burn them, whatever, but keep them away from me. Pretty sure if we spend any more time with them Nat will blow them up.”

Tony dips his head in acknowledgement, still shaken. “Duly noted,” he says grimly. “Though... we’re running out of time, here.”

Clint’s face shutters closed, but a forced grin crosses his face. “Well, they don’t call you a genius for nothing, do they?”


	20. Chapter 20

A weight drops in Tony’s stomach like a stone as he listlessly watches Clint leave. Coulson’s words echo in his head: _you’re our best option for finding another way._ He doesn’t want the responsibility of finding an impossible solution on his shoulders, especially not when he’s so unqualified to do so. While he might have worked and designed weapons—and that’s not something he ever wants to repeat—Tony didn’t work with interstellar space bombs.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bruce clears his throat from behind him.

“I’ll analyze these in the lab. You look like you have... other things in mind,” Bruce says. He takes the dolls from Tony’s hands gingerly before he can protest and tucks the shirts more tightly around them.

Tony appreciates his tact, because he really doubts that there’s anything on those dolls that will be useful. There was nothing on the Iron Man figure or the Captain America one.

He has to find a solution.

But damn, they’re going to have a movie night if it kills him, because there’s been too much darkness in this house lately. There’s been too much unhappiness.

Tony nods his thanks to Bruce and turns, intending to go back down to the lab. He stops, though, remembering the fact that he is caught up on absolutely nothing, having been shut up in the house for the past few days.

“You go down, I want to check something,” Tony says slowly.

Bruce is already in the door of the stairwell, and he calls something that Tony doesn’t quite catch, though it sounds like something around the lines of an affirmative. Or something.

Tony prowls around the common room and kitchen until he finds a tablet sitting on the counter. The R&D people for Stark Industries always send him their prototypes (using whatever new tech he invented that made it _necessary_ for a prototype), which results in a lot of mostly-working tablets, phones, and computers gathering dust in HQ. Most of the Avengers each have their own unique prototypes that they’ve claimed, but if anything breaks there has always been a steady supply.

Not that anything _should_ break, they’re Stark Industries material. However, the tech guys haven’t managed to “god-proof” their phones yet. _Yet_.

So, lots of tablets and phones lying around HQ. Also known as: tablets for Tony when he’s too lazy to go find his own. Actually, come to think of it, he doesn’t know where his is. Maybe in his room under all the crap on his floor. Or maybe the lab, Tony doesn’t remember half of the objects he puts in there.

Tony swipes a finger over the surface of the tablet and winces when he realizes this is one of the dysfunctional ones that lacks holographs and displays all of the text in a weird purple color. Honestly, he has no fucking clue how the tech guys manage to mess these up so badly, but hey, it works. Technically.

He sighs and pulls up the news. Sure enough, while the Avengers may have moved on to bigger problems—and he cringes at that—the media is still raving about the bombings. Since it’s probably the most impactful events of intentional destruction after 9/11 and the Battle of New York, he’s not surprised. Not to mention that it’s now international territory, spanning two countries and two states. Fuck.

And everyone seems to be talking about the Avengers. Most definitely not in the way Fury was imagining when he talked about publicity last year. Nope, this time it’s mostly angry rants and subtly accusing news articles.

Tony switches over from mainstream news like the Times to smaller, lesser-known blogs. He sees mostly the same thing—blame, obviously, for being the Avengers being target but not actually being harmed, and speculation about what they’re up to—

A blog post catches his eye. It’s on one of the “stake the Avengers and burn them for witchcraft” blogs, but that’s not what grabs his attention.

It’s the title that does it, reading something along the lines that the Avengers are cowardly fuckers who left SHIELD agents outside HQ and maintained a solid perimeter of no entry.

What the _fuck_.

Tony rushes to the nearest window, dimly noting the fact that he hasn’t actually looked or been outside in more than a few days. Sure enough, he sees black cars and dark-suited agents ringing the edge of the property. There are a few civilians milling around outside the perimeter, but he’s too far away to tell whether or not they mean harm.

There are SHIELD agents on his property. SHIELD. As in, the organization that is fucking compromised.

Tony ends up calling Steve. He waits tensely for the first couple rings, his gaze still fixed on the agents darting around like black ants on the green lawn. As he watches, one of them stops and says something in another’s ear, gesturing toward HQ. Even though he knows logically that they couldn’t see him at the distance, he steps away from the window, leaning back against the wall.

Steve answers with a short, _“Steve Rogers.”_

“It’s Tony,” he replies after a pause. Tony forgot that Steve wouldn’t recognize this number, anyway, because he picked up a prototype phone that had been wedged in the couch cushions. Tony’s comm is in one of his pockets and he was too lazy to figure out which one.

 _“Oh, hey. What did you need?”_ Steve asks.

Tony’s about to launch into a spiel about the SHIELD agents, but he pauses after hearing Steve’s voice. He sounds out of breath, like he’s been running. “Why do you sound like you’ve been lifting a car?”

 _“I haven’t been lifting a car, I’m not trying that again in an enclosed space after the incident at the museum,”_ Steve says, exasperated. _“I was in the gym.”_

Tony furrows his brow. “Why? You were supposed to be getting intel on SHIELD. We have a gym at HQ.”

Steve sighs. _“Yes, I_ know _we have a gym at HQ, and it’s a damn good one, don’t get jealous of SHIELD’s attempt. I wasn’t able to reach Fury, he’s been ‘busy.’ I only managed to talk to Coulson once, and he basically told me to leave and that I was an idiot for coming here.”_

“Any word on the Council?” Tony asks. He adds, “That still doesn’t explain why you were in the gym.”

 _“I’m getting to that. Agent Hill isn’t really acknowledging me right now, and the Council is kind of an ‘off limits’ subject. I was going to the gym—_ ”Steve pauses, and Tony hears the sound of a door sliding open. _“I was going to the gym to talk with some of the lower-ranking agents. Unfortunately, they’re_ too _low. They don’t know anything.”_ Steve sighs again, his breathing mostly back to normal. There’s a rustling of fabric. _“I’m coming back tomorrow.”_

“Good, that’s… good,” Tony says distractedly. He picks at the zipper on his hoodie and realizes that Steve doesn’t know about their no-longer-wayward agents. “Oh, Clint and Natasha are back.”

The rustling stops and Steve seems surprised. _“Really,”_ he says carefully, the rustling starting up again. _“How did they seem?”_

“Ah… we nearly had a super-powered showdown in the common room,” Tony says awkwardly. “They came back from Budapest.”

Steve inhales sharply before exhaling slowly. Tony thinks it sounds forced. _“Right. Everyone okay?”_

“Define ‘okay,’” Tony says wryly. Quickly, before Steve can respond, he adds, “Why are there SHIELD agents outside HQ?”

Pausing, Steve replies with, _“What’s the problem? Have they been causing trouble?”_ His voice is thick with suspicion at Tony’s change of subject.

“The problem is that there are SHIELD agents outside HQ, and I don’t know why.”

 _“I put them there,”_ Steve says guardedly.

Tony’s hand jerks on the zipper of his hoodie and it snaps off. He stares uncomprehendingly at the small rectangle of metal in his palm for a moment before asking, “What did you say?” His voice is sharp.

_“I said that I put them there.”_

“And may I ask why this seemed like a reasonable decision to make?” Tony asks coldly. His voice sounds formal and stiff to his ears.

 _“Because the days after the Culver and Budapest bombings, we received_ death threats _from civilians,”_ Steve says, a warning simmering in his voice. “ _We’re still receiving them. There were people trying to get into out headquarters. If you got out of your workshop for_ two seconds _and realized the impact of five bombings, you would have noticed.”_

“Excuse me if I’m trying to save all of our asses here,” Tony says icily. “I’m up to my neck trying to figure this out, and you and Coulson and everyone else are expecting me to pull some magical solution to stopping the Tesseract out of my ass.”

 _“You aren’t the only one who’s working on this. Jesus, Tony, we’ve told you again and again that you don’t have to do this lone wolf routine anymore,”_ Steve says edgily. _“There are other people involved in this. Don’t act like this is all about you.”_

Tony flinches back, stung. “I didn’t—I never said—contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually believe the entire world revolves around me,” he snaps. “But I think I have the right to inquire about SHIELD agents placed on my property without my permission or even awareness.”

 _“The benefits outweighed the risks,”_ Steve retorts, without missing a beat. _“When I put them there we didn’t know they were compromised. And we have to keep up the pretense of trusting them. What would you rather do, have the mobs come pouring in your door?”_

“We can’t trust SHIELD!” Tony yells. Steve is deathly quiet on the phone. “We can’t trust them,” Tony repeats again, lowly. “The Council is monitoring every outpost of SHIELD. By putting agents on my front lawn, you’re ensuring that the Council is monitoring _us._ What—“

 _“I’m not having this conversation right now,”_ Steve says tightly. _“Not over the phone, and certainly not while I’m on the_ Helicarrier _. I’ll be back at HQ tomorrow.”_

Steve hangs up, the dull click echoing in the heavy silence. Tony holds the mute phone to his ear for a second before shoving it sharply in his pocket. He pivots on his foot to head back down to the workshop and runs into Loki’s tunic-clad chest.

Tony stumbles back, regaining his balance. Jesus, that hurt, is Loki’s chest made of iron?

A quick glance at Loki’s creamy collarbone says no. Looks can be deceiving, however. The fact that Loki _has_ pale skin in the first place is a deception, if Thor is to be believed on the matter of Loki’s true parentage.

“Team relations going sour?” Loki inquires with a raised eyebrow. There’s a hint of a smirk playing across his lips that Tony watches dazedly.

He glares up at Loki, because that’s easier than the alternative, which is to gaze at him like he’s been whapped over the head. Loki is at least five inches taller than him, the difference startlingly noticeable when standing so close. Damned trickster. Tony’s not going to deign Loki with a response. He brushes swiftly past him, heading towards the stairs that will lead down into the workshop.

“Your team is fracturing,” Loki muses, following Tony as he dodges around a couch. “Your organization can no longer be trusted.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Tony says curtly.

“Really, now, if you want to save your planet—“

Tony turns around at the top of the stairs. Loki is standing a little ways behind him, the soft leather boots he’s wearing muffling any sound of footsteps. His green tunic is cut to make his shoulders look broader, but it’s loose around the arms, and the sleeves are rolled down to hid his hands.

No matter how relaxed Loki’s outfit might appear to an outsider, Tony knows that the loose sleeves hide lean, whipcord muscles. Volatile and unstable is Loki in a nutshell.

“Don’t pretend,” Tony says lowly, dangerously, “That you don’t have something to lose here.”

Loki stays in silence, green eyes gleaming watchfully. He doesn’t say anything.

 

 

 

Tony stares at him for a beat, measuring the planes of his face. Sharp cheekbones and black hair. He doesn’t look anything like Thor’s brother.

He tears his gaze away and walks down the stairs at a leisurely pace until he’s out of Loki’s sight. Then he sprints down to the workshop, nearly tripping on his own feet. Tony feels deeply unsettled and he doesn’t know why.

Bursting into the workshop, he gasps. He rips off his hoodie, awkwardly unzipping it without the help of an actual zipper, and tosses it over a chair. Tony wipes his forehead and stares at his stupid, half-formed plans on containing the Tesseract.

Nah. He fucks around in the workshop for a while, after multiple failed attempts to work on the Tesseract and the suit. The rush of design has left him, like Loki has put a block on his brain. Nothing’s left.

He starts building something that he doesn’t really know the purpose of, slamming parts together forcefully to end up with broken circuits and scattered equipment. He’s angry, angry at Steve and Loki and the whole damned mess. Well.

Tony’s hands are too jerky and rough. His mind wanders as his hands move, distancing himself from his problems. This is probably what Pepper would call “black-out engineering,” and shit, he really needs to call her.

But right now, it’s easy and familiar, and he _creates_. The world is muted, Jarvis has no music playing, and he is free to build in silence. _Pinch, twist, connect._ Tony is okay. A-okay.

When he pulls his brain back to the twisted piece of scrap that he’s building and recognizes the wiring of a missile, he wants to vomit.

When Tony got back from Afghanistan, he built the Mark II. On days when he couldn’t deal with the stress, days where he disappeared into his workshop for hours, sometimes he would black-out engineer. Design things and not realize what he was building. Back then, it would turn out to be weapons—missiles and bombs and all of the items he swore off making.

Tony got it under control. He stopped blacking out, and when he did, he built armor, not weapons. He was on the _defending side_. He doesn’t know why he’d suddenly regress now.

He takes the foul wiring that he just built and smashes it into bits with a hammer. Maybe Steve is right to doubt him—he can’t even control himself.

Tony sits in the workshop for a beat longer, his gaze fixed unseeingly upon the metal mess in front of him. Steve is coming home tomorrow and Tony’s not about to let him see that he fucked up again. Tony can just… avoid him. Right now he can’t recall why he ever stood up for the mischief god in the first place.

Tony leaves. Even though it’s only late afternoon, he’s tired, a draining exhaustion that goes down right to his bones. Now, without the workshop and the suit to distract him, he doesn’t have anything to do besides pore over the Tesseract problem. He resolves himself to the fact that for the next however-many-hours-he-stays-up, he will most likely be going mad over the cube.

Maybe the Tesseract can brainwash him just because he’s thinking about it so much. The irony.

Tony absently grabs a tablet and heads up to his room. He doesn’t meet anyone on the way there and is absurdly grateful. The fact that he is probably says something about his mental health—but really, he’s had enough shrinks trying to get inside his head without psychoanalyzing himself.

Yeah, he’s going crazy.

It’s the Tesseract’s fault. Obviously.

Tony sits down on the bed after kicking off his shoes, resigned, and places the tablet on his bent thighs. He leans back against the headboard as he types in a few passwords enabling the tablet access to some of his more secure files. Swiping a finger upwards, holographs expand around the tablet to form a blue-tinted screen around him.

The holographs ensure that Tony can’t see the rest of the bedroom very clearly. When he looks away from the holographs after a few hours of unproductive work, he squints, rubbing blurry eyes. The natural light of the afternoon has gone since the sun went down, and shadows have crept from crevices and nooks to cover the rest of the room.

Tony’s arc reactor is a harsh beacon of light in the room. Without the black hoodie to conceal it, the reactor shines through his shirt, ghostly blue light wavering in front of him, illuminating dust motes in the air. Even with that small source, though, the room around him is dark.

“Jarvis, get me some lights,” Tony says, coughing slightly to unstick his throat.

There’s no answer. His room is silent but for the ever present hum of the battery in his chest.

His mouth tastes like dust. “Jarvis?”

He hops down lightly off the bed, fumbling slightly to find his shoes. Tony slips them on and forces himself to walk calmly towards the manual light switch. There’s a panicky feeling tightening his chest and he doesn’t know why Jarvis isn’t answering.

He steps as quietly as he can, but in the deafening silence his footsteps sound like thunder. Tony cringes every time his foot falls or his shirt rustles and he clenches his hand in a silent fist. Reaching the wall, he runs over it with his hands until he finds the panel that regulates the room’s settings.

It’s dark and unresponsive, probably because it’s _connected to Jarvis_. Tony curses his stupidity, because if Jarvis isn’t responding then _of course_ the wall panels wouldn’t. In a rush of desperation, he flings open the door, letting the yellow light of the hallway wash into the room.

There’s a dark mass on the floor.

Tony squints, his eyes still adjusting to the hallway light. It’s not clothes, because he would remember if the situation in his room got that bad, but it’s… something. He moves slightly out of the way so the light can reach farther into the room, but for some reason it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Tony’s gaze struggles to follow the mass back up to its source. The darkness presses in the entire room. How did he not notice this before?

The mass is coming from the vent set high in the wall, billowing and dripping, and Tony realizes with a start that it’s smoke.

His first thought is _fire_ , and he rushes over to one of the manual fire alarms that he installed in every hallway at Natasha’s insistence. Tony attempts to pull the switch down, but it won’t budge. The alarm is stuck. Looking back in the room his tablet has gone suspiciously dark. Something has been messing with the electronics.

Tony is darting over to the stairs when he stops abruptly. The smoke was… unnatural, on the floor. He shakes his head violently. Captain Obvious strikes again. Tony dashes back to his room, heart tapping a beat against his throat. _Smoke rises_.

He peers inside cautiously, his shirt collar pulled up to cover his nose and mouth. The smell hits him anyways, however, and while he can’t recall there being a scent before it’s now quite distinguishable.

Tony smells something boiling and acidic, like a bad mix of extremely volatile chemicals. There’s something else almost harshly artificial about it, too, as if someone injected the air with bleach. It invades his nostrils and taints his mouth and it’s _wrong_.

A rattling sound starts emitting from the smoke. Tony _remembers this_. It’s the same type of smoke that leaked out of the bathroom mirror, the malignant thing chasing Loki, the one that terrified him so much he couldn’t move.

The realization that he now knows what this is just makes him feel worse.

But there’s no time, and if the smoke got in the vents it could be anywhere. God, if _Clint_ was in the vents with it, then he’s probably dead.

Bile is rising in his throat and Tony stumbles backwards, away from the smoke’s reaching tendrils. He races toward the stairs and wrenches open the door to the stairwell, but he doesn’t make it more than three steps down before he realizes that there’s smoke filling up the of the room like floodwater.

Tony runs away from the stairwell, his brain running on autopilot. A primal kind of fear has taken over him, his only instinct to _get away._ His feet pound on the polished wood as he turns the corner.

There are no more stairs to get down to lower floors and he sure as hell doesn’t trust the elevator, even though this is definitely an emergency. His only chance of getting out is to go up, onto the roof.

Another vent is set high in the wall, oily smoke dripping out of it in thick streams. It has run down the wall and puddled in a cloudy mass on the floor that’s about four feet thick. Tony grits his teeth, speeding up, and vaults over the smoke.

He stumbles and nearly falls, but manages to throw all his weight forward to keep him from going backwards. However, in the few seconds that Tony is standing still, a smoky tendril reaches out and curls around his right leg.

It _burns_ , like a coiled fiery whip mixed with a thousand stabbing knives. Tony yells in surprise and pain. His throat is raw and dry and he’s panting hoarsely.

He yanks his leg away from the smoke and it feels like barbed wire detangling itself from where it was embedded in his flesh. There’s liquid on his face and he can’t tell if it’s blood or sweat or tears. Maybe a combination of all three. Tony doesn’t look down at his probably mangled leg, instead taking a limping step forward.

The hallway tilts sideways, the yellow lights above him expanding and blurring over his vision. Tony stumbles and falls, crashing into the wall to lean on it heavily. Bracing his arm against it, he stands up again, wobbling slightly. He can’t stay so near the ever-expanding smoke if he wants to survive.  
Tony takes another step, retching from the pain in his leg, but there’s nothing for him to throw up but bile. He takes a ragged breath, calf engulfed in fire.

He’s not nearly far enough away from the smoke. The pain is spreading now, acid eating away at his knee, and he buckles, falling forward. Blackness is creeping around the edges of his gaze and his peripheral vision is all but gone.

Tony Stark is going to die from some goddamned smoke eating at his body. How fucking pathetic.

A long-fingered hand grabs his shirt collar and pulls him forwards, away from the smoke. The cloth pulls tight around Tony’s throat as he’s tugged upright and he gasps.

“Don’t whine,” a voice mutters. Tony freezes. Loki.

Loki’s hand releases its grip on his shirt once Tony is more or less on his feet, but the room starts swaying again and he starts sliding downwards again. With an irritated sound, Loki stoops and slings Tony over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

Tony would protest, except for the fact that he thinks his eyes are glazing over. He feels groggy and tries to blink rapidly to fend of the darkness still encircling his vision. He can’t feel any sensation in his leg besides pain, a persistent throbbing that keeps pace with his heart.

He coughs to clear his dry throat and rasps, “How did you find me?”

“You yell quite loudly,” is the only response. Tony can’t think of anything to say in reply and his brain is short-circuiting from the pain, so he just slumps.

Loki gives a sound of surprise or maybe annoyance. Tony blinks again to see where he’s looking and finds that Loki’s gaze is fixed on his injured leg. Which Tony hadn’t actually looked at.

The tendril had somehow torn his jeans when it burned his skin, so there’s a bare patch of blackened flesh without any cloth covering it. His skin is charred black but also seems as though it has gone through a thorough chemical washing. Angry, bloodied blisters cover the parts that still have flesh and Tony makes a noise in his throat.

Loki turns and looks at him when he hears it, and in this position Loki’s nose brushes his cheek, an ice-cold relief against his burning skin. Dazedly, he scans Loki’s face for malice and finds only an impassive wall. Loki turns his face away and darts towards where Tony knows the roof stairwell is. His long legs eat up the distance easily, but the movement is starting to make Tony feel nauseous so he closes his eyes.

He isn’t so out of it that he misses the point where they reach the roof, however. The air changes from burningly acidic to bitingly cold, and Tony is grateful for the change in temperature. He breathes in deep, the frigid air searing his lungs. Maybe they’ll have snow soon.

Loki sets him down on the cement, and that isn’t as nice. The chill seeps through his shirt and into his bones.

And he’s so _tired_ …

Tony dimly hears the voices of his teammates and Loki and what sounds like arguing. Seems as though he was the last to arrive to this party, then. Steve is obviously still on the Helicarrier, but Clint and Thor are doing a fair job of taking charge right now.

He senses rather that sees someone kneeling next to his leg. When Bruce speaks, he sounds worried. Not a good sign.

“What happened?” Bruce whispers.

“It touched him,” Loki says tightly. “I believe it was only for a few seconds, but it left its mark.”

“What is it going to do to him?” That’s Clint, his voice harsh. When Tony opens his eyes a crack, he can see that all of them have scrapes and bruises, and Natasha has a nasty gash staining her sleep shirt red, but none have the smoke’s distinguished injuries.

A beat of silence passes before Loki speaks again. “It will kill him, as it is starting to do already, unless you get someone with enough power to heal him.”

At Loki’s words, Tony realizes dully that the fire that started in his leg is still creeping upwards, a wave of agony now encircling his thigh. He’s too tired to do anything more than breathe shallowly.

“And who can do that?” Clint again, his face drawn and angry.

With his eyes open a sliver, Tony can see the razor smile that curves over Loki’s face.

“Why, me.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, unfortunately, due to complications with my beta and her schedule, the next chapter won't be posted for a few weeks. Thanks again to Ruby and to all of you guys for following this story!

The healing takes a long time. The team has to hold Tony down as Loki puts blisteringly cold hands on his ruined leg, ice seeping into his skin. He thrashes and yells until his throat is shredded and raw. When Loki finally lifts his hands and backs away, his fingers are stained black. Dawn is tingeing the edges of the sky orange.

He’s kind of hazy on what happens after, but when they decide to venture back into the mansion there’s no trace of the smoke. Tony still has to use Bruce as a crutch, because while his leg may be healed, it has gone numb, like his foot fell asleep. He still hasn’t actually _looked_ at his leg yet since the disastrous first time, but he’s not sure he wants to.

They file back into the mansion silently. Tony remembers with the appearance of the sun that they have four days now.

The team heads to the common room, their unofficial all-purpose area. As in, it’s used for movie nights, pre-battle pep talks, weapons cleaning, and keeping Thor entertained with the Wii. Right now it looks as though they’re using it for planning, because no one in the house actually likes the built-in conference room. They only use it when Fury feels the need to actually come over to the mansion and the team needs to look professional.

Well. Professional is a relative term when it comes to people like Thor.

Bruce dumps him on the couch and Tony melts into it. He feels grimy, and now that the house is no longer freakishly warm he’s chilled and shivering again.

Tony can see the fucking SHIELD agents still outside through a window. They look pretty much exactly the same as they did yesterday—Jesus, was it really only yesterday?—which is to say they seem to have no idea of whatever hellish event happened last night.

 _To protect the team_. Bullshit. SHIELD isn’t worth the trouble and can’t even see what’s going on under their nose.

During his observation of lower life forms, it seems as though the Captain has arrived. Lookee doo, Steve, at the mess they’ve gotten into. Bruce is talking quietly with him, probably explaining this shitstorm, and Steve has his Crumply Face on again. Tony doesn’t think he’s seen Steve with the Crumply Face so many times in one week.

“Tony, are you okay?” Steve is kneeling in front of him on the floor, waving a hand in front of Tony’s eyes, and whoops. Tony went back inside his brain again.

“Get outta my face,” Tony says, without any real heat in it. He blinks owlishly.

“You’re fine,” Steve mutters, his face going tight again. He turns his eyes away.

Right. Last time he talked with Steve, it was on less than friendly terms. Wow, it’s like they’ve regressed to the old days again. Pre-New York, when everything was snapping teeth and wounded pride.

“Tony. Tony.” Someone is smacking his face lightly. Bruce, because Steve has moved away. “Hey. Snap out of it.”

Tony blinks again and shakes his head. “Wha… what. Lemme sleep.” He curls up on the couch, trying to retain some warmth. Since his leg is still pretty much dead, he basically just lifts it up and moves it into a less freezing position.

“Normally I’d be all for it, but this is a really bad time,” Bruce says.

Tony nods sleepily. “Smoke. Right.”

“Yeah,” Bruce confirms, and looks up at Loki. “Do you have any idea what it was?”

Loki is standing tense as coiled steel near the couch, his jaw a sharp and rigid line against his pale skin. The edges of his sleeves are stained with dried blood around his wrists. Probably acquired when he was healing Tony. _Why_ , though, is what Tony can’t understand. Why would Loki agree to save him when it would be easier to get rid of him?

The only thing his sluggish brain can come up with right now is a deal, which reminds him suspiciously of a deal with the devil. Hopefully nobody sold their soul while he was out of it.

“Well?” Clint asks. He’s staring at Loki, unimpressed.

“The smoke is not smoke at all,” Loki says, looking at Thor, who has been silent for most of this ordeal. His gaze is unreadable. “It has a consciousness. It used to dwell in darkness and pockets of shadow where even the bravest soldiers would not go.”

Loki shakes his head, a slight furrow in his brow. “But this was millennia ago. When the darkness was defeated and the light spread, such evil was eradicated. It faded away. It vanished from all memory, to be kept only in books as a _side note_.” The last part is spat out.

“Does it have a name?” That’s Steve, his arms crossed. His face has been growing steadily darker throughout Loki’s explanation.

Loki turns green, green eyes on him that are impossibly old.

“It is called the Nathgir.”

Thor sucks in a breath, a quick, stunned inhale.

“Brother,” he starts lowly. Loki twitches but Thor presses on firmly. “The stories father told us… How did we last until the dawn?”

Loki stares at him for a beat and starts pacing. “Something isn’t right,” he mutters, walking with cool, practiced strides before pivoting sharply and continuing. “The Nathgir must be loyal to him. I do not… there is no other explanation.”

“Him?” Steve asks sharply. “Thanos?”

Loki turns eyes like needles at Steve. “Thanos is much more powerful than you realize,” he hisses. “You could not even _begin_ —“ he cuts himself off and seethes silently, breathing quickly out of his nose. For some reason, his gaze turns to Tony, heated and angry.

Tony is motionless, trapped by Loki’s burning green stare, and he wants to—he wants to—

“So, what,” Clint’s voice breaks into his thoughts. Tony blinks rapidly and tries to clear the muddy haze that’s taking over his mind. “Thanos can now control murderous smoke? Why didn’t he kill us?”

“Too easy,” Tony murmurs, staring at his hands. They’re grimy, dirt and grease darkening the creases. “Too fast. Won’t wanna kill us ‘til we see the rest of the world burned.”

He looks up in time to catch Bruce’s grimace from where he’s sitting beside Tony, and can tell that Bruce remembers that conversation from the lab as well as he does. _He’s going to make us watch._

Steve turns to Loki. “Well?” He asks shortly, as if in confirmation.

Loki flicks a glance at Tony before answering. Tony glares at him.

“He will do whatever you would despise the most,” Loki says, eyes narrowed. “He will do his best to break you, and once you have been reduced to begging on your knees while your flesh rots, _that_ is when he will kill you.”

Natasha mutters something incomprehensible in Russian before straightening slightly. “Wonderful.”

Tony looks at Loki and feels sick, because he recognizes the strange expression in Loki’s eyes. It’s one that speaks from _experience_. He doesn’t know how Loki got involved with Thanos in the first place, but he guesses that it didn’t start off with sunshine and rainbows. More likely it began with darkness and pain.

“Why the hell is he doing this?” Clint bursts out, speaking to no one in particular. There’s a furrow between his brows and his mouth is set in an angry line.

“It doesn’t even _matter!”_ Tony bursts out snappishly. “We’re all broken pieces! Can’t you all see we’re fighting a losing battle? We have no chance. Zero. Fucking _zilch._ ” The words are spilling out like bile now; a floodgate burst open that he can’t seem to shut. “Thanos is going to wipe the world with our corpses and there’s no way we can stop it, because it’s the fucking Tesseract, and it shouldn’t even fucking _exist!”_

Instantly, he has six pairs of eyes on him in varying stages of anger and shock, a united gaze that strips him to his core.

Tony is suddenly, horribly awake. He nods once, sharply and heaves himself up, leaning unsteadily on the couch until he regains his balance. Limping, because his leg is still numb, he reaches the stairs down to the workshop and hobbles down them slowly, gripping the handrail with white knuckles.

Tony types in the password quickly, falling through the doors.

“Jarvis,” he wheezes, and the lights flick on immediately.

“ _Sir. You look… unwell. Do you require medical attention?”_

“You know damn well I don’t, Jarvis, you can see that my leg is fine,” Tony mumbles, too guilty to actually be cross.

He steadies himself on one of the smooth concrete walls and leans his forehead against the cool stone.

Why is he such an _asshole?_

Tony snorts. He knows exactly why. He’s an asshole because he needs to be, needs armor stronger than metal to stand against the public eye. He pulls wit and charm and cockiness around him like a cloak and uses it to his advantage.

It’s when he’s _unintentionally_ an asshole that stuns him.

Well. Perhaps “stuns” isn’t the right word. Tony knows he isn’t innocent underneath his thin veneer of “public disguise”—far from it—but he thought that he was past spitting out barbed comments offhandedly.

Obviously not.

 _Broken pieces_.

Right.

Tony limps over to one of his multiple desk-esque places in the workshop, dragging his leg behind him. It’s numb, after all, so when he bangs it into things he doesn’t really notice.

He pulls up the files on the Tesseract and a few of his sketched solutions. Derisively, he discards them, because wasn’t that the whole point of his outburst? There’s no solution to this problem. Practically no material invented can provide workable answer. Not to mention that he doesn’t even know exactly how the Tesseract works—he’s working off of vague ideas and incomplete studies. The blue holographs fade into nothing as a scream beats against the inside of his teeth. Instead, he takes a deep breath and gets back to work. It’s the least he can do.

Three minutes in, he wants to tear his hair out. The fucking Tesseract.

He pulls down a 3D, life-sized diagram of one of the Tesseract missiles, and discards the casing and skeleton so that all that’s left is the wiring and the core, looking like stripped bones. The exposed remains remind him of his blackout and he shifts uneasily before discarding it.

Tony pinches the core of pulsing blue energy and turns it in different angles. It’s no bigger than a pea.

So a pea-sized dollop of Tesseract blue shit can deteriorate and eat away the centimeter-thick capsule of _adamantium_ surrounding it, Tony muses. Well, fuck.

As he’s examining the core, a hiss behind him signals the door’s opening.

Tony spins around in his chair to see Loki standing, relaxed, as the doors close shut behind him.

“Hey!” He says, moving to stand up. His numb leg buckles beneath him and he’s forced to sit back down abruptly into the chair. He settles for glaring at Loki instead.

“I’m 100% sure that Jarvis didn’t give you access codes, so fuck off.”

Loki wiggles his fingers, a hint of a smirk touching the corners of his mouth. “Magic,” he says cryptically. “Do you really think a simple passcode could stand in my way?”

Tony stares at him for a moment, stony-faced, before he sighs and resolutely turns his back. His mouth quirks up slightly—he can practically _hear_ Loki’s frown.

“What do you want?” Tony asks, fiddling with the holograph again.

“The Tesseract needs to be stopped,” Loki says, haltingly at first.

“Well, obviously,” Tony says bitingly. He doesn’t know what Loki’s aiming at, but he can sense Loki scowling behind him.

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to find a solution. Not without my help. It’s too advanced for you. For any mortal.”

“I’ll have you know I’m very advanced,” Tony says coolly, swiveling back to face Loki.

Loki curls his lip, but he looks unsettled. “Not enough,” he says through clenched teeth.

“So you acknowledge I’m advanced,” Tony says playfully.

Loki looks startled for a second before narrowing his eyes. “You might as well be a flea in the eyes of the universe. The Tesseract is beyond anything that your limited mind could imagine. Without my assistance, this entire planet will fall.”

“Remind me again why you’re not jumping for joy at the prospect.”

Loki scowls, his forehead creasing. “Must I repeat myself so frequently? Thanos will not stop with you and your world’s destruction. He will hunt me down to the ends of the nine realms and beyond.”

Tony flicks away the energy capsule and watches it spin through the air, coming to a stop and hovering over the table. “Yes, but why are you _here?_ Why haven’t you run off?”

Loki looks at him disconcertedly; his burning green gaze dark and troubled.

“What?” Tony asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Loki simply flicks his eyes away in quick dismissal and Tony wonders when he started being able to read Loki’s looks.

“Right,” Tony mutters. “So what can your magic fingers do to stop the Tesseract?” He asks lightly, chancing a sly glance at Loki.

“Oh, my fingers can do plenty,” Loki purrs, and Tony swallows around the lump in his throat that’s suddenly appeared. “But you need to find a way to contain the Tesseract’s energy, for a long enough amount of time to move it safely away from this miserable planet. You can’t _honestly_ have expected that would be easy.”

Tony manages to rip his gaze away from Loki’s hands and fix his view on his face. He did have nice hands, unfortunately. Long and elegant, but strong enough—

Abort mission, derail that train of thought. Right. Now.

Tony manages to push aside the mess inside his brain and focus on Loki’s words.

“What the hell do you expect me to do?” He snaps, because his patience is really at a breaking point for more of this talk. “Give up and do nothing in the next, what, four days we have left?” Because it’s already the middle of the morning and the hours are being eaten up in what feels like seconds.

Speaking of mid-morning, he really needs to eat.

Loki replies before he can think anything more than the word _food_.

“Calm your temper,” he says, one perfect eyebrow raised. “I _expect_ that you will need help.” Loki gives a quick, smug grin, flashing white teeth.

“And you’re offering?” Tony asks, incredulous. “Seriously? Have you been drugged?”

Loki rolls his eyes impatiently. “You were quick enough to accept my help when you were in mortal danger, the most recent example being this very morn when I healed you from a fatal Nathgir wound. Now, on the one subject that actually matters, you are refusing any assistance from me, even though you _sorely_ need it.”

“My life matters plenty. And to a great deal of people,” Tony mutters. “Where else would Stark Industries get inventions as geniusified as mine? No offense to the R&D people, of course, but they don’t really have what it takes.”

“For a supposed genius, you use quite a large amount of non-existing words,” Loki answers.

Tony surprises both of them by giving a short bark of laughter. “Alright then, Pointy, let’s see what you got.” He turns back to the capsule of holographic energy and flares his fingers to expand it, the spinning design now as large as a watermelon.

Loki waits for a beat of silence before settling gracefully on the table that stretches out to either side of Tony.

“Show me what you have,” he says.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting, everyone! My beta and I were both incredibly busy for different reasons, but we should be on track for at least the next few weeks.

It’s weird. Tony would be lying to say it wasn’t. But they work, in an almost scary way—he and Loki are so similar in some ways that it freaks him out.

Since Tony was, actually, really hungry, he ended up ordering Thai food sometime around noon. And yes, it was still extremely alien to watch Loki eating Pad Thai and orange chicken with chopsticks. Granted, Loki didn’t actually know how to _use_ chopsticks before Tony subtly gave him an example—Loki doesn’t like asking for anything, even something as simple as learning how to use a utensil, though he does pick it up quickly.

They brainstorm together for a while, Tony having rolled his swivel chair to a clear space in the room, a shell of blue holographs around him. Loki stands next to him, arms crossed, throwing out verbal suggestions. Well, suggestions might be putting it lightly.

Occasionally, Loki will get fed up with how slow Tony apparently is, and will snatch a holograph out of the air and make his own adjustments to them, emerald green bleeding slightly into the arc-reactor blue. Which was kind of weird, but he tries not to think about Loki’s magic too much.

Loki also knows about the SHIELD designs for their Tesseract weapons, snapping, “I had Barton in my custody for a very long while” when Tony asked.

Out of the three metals Tony had suggested, Loki had dismissed uru.

“Even if Thor was granted permission to take enough of it, uru takes eons to forge and shape. The device you would need to make wouldn’t be finished for many millennia,” Loki had said, studying the three holographic materials laid out in front of them. Their properties and uses were displayed in long lists below. “What is this?” He had asked, pulling the vibranium chunk towards him with two fingers. “It shows promise.”

Tony had sighed gustily. “Yeah, but unless you can shit solid vibranium or magic some into being, we won’t be able to use it. I only know of two things that it’s been used for, _ever_ , it’s so rare.”

To which Loki had replied that it was outside of his ability to create something that he didn’t know the structure of. Also something about different types of magic that went over Tony’s head, because, again, he tries not to think about magic when it’s an option. It messes with his head.

So their only option is adamantium, which didn’t even _work_ for an extended period of time with SHIELD’s devices.

Loki had told Tony to shut up when he voiced his concerns and growled something **un** intelligible about incompetent mortal technology. He really was a bad houseguest. House prisoner.

Tony frowns, reminded again of Loki’s status. Though, is that really true anymore? Loki has been more of an asset than a prisoner, helping them multiple times in understanding what the hell is actually going on. And he had smiled, too, a quick, genuine flash of teeth when Tony had made a snarky comment. Why he was getting caught up in Loki’s smile, he didn’t know. Unless—

Loki’s been designing something in front of Tony while he was musing, tinting his cerulean holographs a soothing teal color. Tony’s not sure how he feels about that.

“Here,” Loki says, pushing the design towards him.

It looks like… a box.

That’s it. Just a box.

“Uh, nice cube?” Tony asks uncertainly. “Great to see you’ve gotten the hang of graphic design, but—“

Loki’s shoulders drop and he looks skyward in exasperation. “Don’t be thick,” he hisses. “ _Look_.” He throws his hands out, expanding the box until it’s surrounding them like a cocoon.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Tony breathes. While the outside of the box looks like plain metal, the inside is filled with a shiny substance that reflects multicolored light, like oil or soap bubbles. Lines of glowing green run up the seams of the cube, intersecting at the corners.

“What—uh—“

“The material is an absorbent,” Loki says, apparently having no desire to wait until Tony has finished stuttering. “Made from a few special minerals and liquids with a certain enchantment. It will contain the energy that the Tesseract releases for enough time to remove it to a more isolated location.”

“The fu—okay. One, what qualifies as ‘enough time?’ And two, why the hell didn’t you suggest this earlier?” Tony asks angrily.

“‘Enough time’ should qualify as _enough time,”_ Loki snaps. “I did not put forth this idea before because the metal is—what is the name? –Adamantium. The Tesseract would rip apart the cage _without_ the absorbent in seconds. However, to create this and hold it in place, the drain on my magic would be severe.” Loki stalks around the room intently, hands clasped behind his back. His hand closes into a fist, the muscles tensing in his shoulders and forearms.

Tony scowls, both at Loki’s arms and at the “enough time” answer he provided. “So what are you saying? Is this something that you’re going to offer or not?”

Loki stops in front of Tony, his green eyes shadowed. “I do not know,” he says uncertainly. “I…”

The door opens with a hiss that sounds deafening in the quiet of the workshop. Loki startles and claps his hands together, shrinking down the holographs. Tony lets out a breath that he hadn’t known he’d been holding. When he turns back to Loki, his face is blank.

It’s Steve. He stands hesitantly in the threshold, hand braced against the doorframe.

“Tony,” he says, and Tony is jolted slightly at the change from Loki’s deep liquid tones to Steve’s rugged, more stilted ones. “I need to talk to you.”

The “alone” goes unsaid.

“I will take my leave,” Loki murmurs. He pointedly does not look at Tony as he sweeps out the door, even though Tony was trying to catch his eye the entire time.

Steve clears his throat from where he’s still lingering in the door, and Tony shakes his head to clear his muddled thoughts.

“Right. Come in,” Tony says. It’s weird giving someone permission to come in the workshop—if he hasn’t already given them access codes, then it’s likely he won’t let them in if they ask. Of course, on his… ah… _bad days_ , he has Jarvis lock down the whole workshop from _anyone_ , but that’s a story for a different day. Or possibly never.

Steve treads inside, hands hanging loose at his sides. “What was that about?” He asks, motioning to the now Loki-less room.

“He’s just helping me come up with potential solutions to our global gastrointestinal problem,” Tony quips warily. “You know, the blue, cube-shaped one?”

“Right,” Steve says, nodding. Tony can tell that he wants to pry further but is restraining himself. He runs a hand up through his blond hair, making it stick up messily. “Look, I just wanted to say—“

Tony holds up a hand. “If it’s about yesterday, it’s fine. Already forgotten.” He grins, trying to reassure Steve, but he looks unconvinced.

“No, don’t do that,” he says, and shit, now he’s starting to look a little upset.

“Do what?” Tony is honestly clueless on what he’s talking about.

“That—that thing,” Steve says heatedly. “Where you brush off everything, even when it hurts you.”

“You didn’t _hurt me_ —“ Tony starts to say, affronted, but Steve cuts him off.

“I’m not falling for that this time,” he says steadily. His eyes are clear blue resolve. “I shouldn’t have called in the SHIELD troops without telling—no, without _asking_ you first. You’re right, this is your property, and we’re on edge with SHIELD as it is. I’m sorry.”

Tony stares at him, thoughts whirling.

“Okay,” he says finally. He looks down at his hands and starts picking idly at one of his fingernails. “Yeah. I was a dick, too.”

“Okay?” Steve asks, looking hopeful. “So, are we good?”

Tony looks up and quirks a smile. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Steve looks relieved. “D’you want to join us upstairs? It actually is your turn to pick this week for movie night and you told me we were watching the Matrix, so that’s what I had Jarvis put in.”

The Matrix, how could he forget? “Sure, just let me… clean some stuff up, here.”

Steve nods his head a few times, and adds, “Just come up when you’re finished.” He backs up a few steps before turning around and heading out the door. It whooshes shut behind him.

Tony leans against a table and runs a hand over his face. This is good, right? They can move out the SHIELD troops, hope the mobs don’t attack them in the few, precious days they have before the Equinox, and not die.

Great plan, Iron Man, he thinks sarcastically.

But now… with Loki’s design, they might have a chance. That is, if Tony can convince him. There’s still so much work to do, he has to get the adamantium and build the cage, figure out how long it’s going to take for Loki to get his magic soap stuff—

He pulls at his hair, the pain bringing him back out of the spiraling hole of worry that’s opening up in his chest.

_Come up when you’re finished,_ Steve said.

Tony wrestles with himself for a while, because he _really_ needs to work, but he’s been up all day and all night. And he _was_ just attacked by sentient smoke.

Speaking of which, his leg has progressed to a pins-and-needles feeling. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, wincing, and scrubs a hand over his blurry vision. Tony blinks. He can’t work like this, obviously…

It feels like he’s trying to convince himself. Tony realizes with a jolt that he actually wants to go, so… aw, fuck it.

He heads up the stairs with no small amount of dragging his leg. Lingering in the doorway, he surveys the room with surprise.

Everything’s all set up for movie night like usual, piles of blankets and stray couch cushions littering the floor. Bruce is huddled up on one corner of a couch, hands wrapped around a mug of steaming tea. Thor is sprawled out on the other side of the couch, hogging an entire bowl of popcorn like usual. Clint is leaning against the table in a bizarre nest of duvet covers on the floor, Natasha curled against him, her feet tucked under his thighs.

Steve is sitting on the big leather armchair. From the angle the chair is positioned at, he can see Tony from where he’s loitering in the door like an idiot.

“Tony, hey,” Steve says, and a few pairs of eyes turn toward him. The Matrix is paused on the title screen discreetly, like they were just waiting for him to come up.

He nods in acknowledgement, and moves to sit on the one remaining couch in the room, before seeing Loki sitting on one side. Tony freezes. Loki is looking resolutely away from him towards the screen, sitting in a façade of calmness with his hands placed delicately in his lap. There isn’t anywhere else to sit and Tony would look stupid and cowed if he backed away now, so he sits down gingerly as far away from Loki as possible within the confines of the couch. Of course, that means there’s like two inches between them, because some time ago Tony thought it would be a good idea to order a _loveseat_ and put it here.

Even though they spent the whole afternoon and some of the morning working together, it was still… _work_. They had a specific purpose and were thrown together by necessity. Not… whatever it is they’re doing right now. Watching a movie he’s seen a hundred times sitting next to someone who tried to kill him.

Clint twists around and smirks, giving him a thumbs up. Tony flips him off when Steve is busy dragging more popcorn onto the table. None of the other Avengers seem to be bothered at all by Loki’s presence.

“I would like to view this movie,” Thor booms. “I have heard it is a great tale of bravery.”

“It’s based on a true story,” Clint tells him, straight-faced.

Natasha punches him in the arm. “No, it’s not. Put the damn movie on already.”

Clint opens his mouth to reply, but that’s probably going to end with Tony having to replace more furniture or pillows so he cuts him off. “Jarvis, play it.”

The lights dim, the only sound in the room being Thor’s noisy chewing. Racing green lines of numbers and code run across the screen as the opening sequence plays.

“ _Hello?”_ Cypher says, as Trinity appears in her black leather suit. Tony eases back into his seat.

The rest of the movie goes by in companionable silence, the level of popcorn in the numerous bowls scattered throughout the room decreasing steadily. Tony is hyper-aware of Loki in the beginning, noticing every inhale and exhale and tiny shift in movement, but by the time Neo is sparring with Morpheus in the simulation he’s relaxed enough to stay still when Loki’s sharp hip accidentally touches his.

He’s relaxed so much, in fact, that he can’t seem to keep his eyes open. Tony’s eyes droop closed and he struggles to get them open, but they appear to have been weighed down with concrete bricks. There’s darkness all around and he falls, down and down and down, because he always falls...

Falling, falling, falling. Tony wakes up to his mouth pressed against something cool. His face is mashed against the same surface, so he doesn’t open his eyes. He was watching a movie—the Matrix—but the sound of fake gunfire and explosions has ceased. When he flicks his tongue out to wet his lips, he tastes mint and metal and the cold tang of a winter sky.

Holy fuck, he tastes _mint_ and _metal._

_Loki_.

Tony sits bolt upright, pulling his face away from the junction between Loki’s neck and shoulder. Any trace of sleepiness has been chased away by the fact that he was practically _cuddling_ with Loki. What the actual fuck.

He glances around and realizes that the movie must have ended a while ago, but it’s still dark out. The blanket pile where Natasha and Clint were sitting has been cleared away (Steve) and the popcorn bowls are gone (also Steve). Thor, Steve, Clint, and Natasha have all seem to have mysteriously disappeared (shit).

Bruce is sitting in the same place he was during the movie, dozing. When Tony sits up with all of the grace of a raging elephant, he shifts and blinks blearily at him. Bruce pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and yawns.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he says with a faint note of surprise. “Just warning you, I’m pretty sure that Clint and Natasha took pictures.” He nods at their… _situation_ , and Tony cringes slightly.

“Fuck,” Tony mutters, and Bruce huffs a laugh.

“That about sums it up,” he agrees. “I’m going to go to bed, and you should sleep. Uh, more. Get some rest.” Bruce coughs lightly and exits. However, Bruce is either planning to eavesdrop or is genuinely exhausted, because he just walked into the kitchen.

Tony turns to Loki with a sense of dread, but it turns out it needn’t have mattered. Loki is staring down at his hands, which are clenched into white-knuckled fists on his lap, his shoulders raised and tense now that Tony’s not leaning into them.

Tony opens his mouth, to apologize or laugh it off or make a joke, he’s not entirely sure, but Loki is already standing and vanishing through the stairwell door that _actually_ leads to the bedrooms.

Shut down cold. Got it.

Bruce wanders out of the kitchen, a mug of tea in one hand and a bowl of yogurt and granola in the other. So, eavesdropping, then.

“Tony, are you sleeping with Loki?” He asks bluntly.

Thrown off, Tony splutters. “What the—no, I’m not _sleeping_ with _Loki_.” He stares at Bruce in disgruntled confusion. “Why would you ask that? _Ever?_ ”

Bruce just stares at him, tilting his head in consideration. “Are you attracted to him?”

“ _No_ ,” Tony says vehemently, but then stops. Okay, conventionally, he knows Loki isn’t _unattractive_. What with the sharp cheekbones, raven-colored hair, and smoldering green eyes, he can see the appeal. You know. For _other_ people.

Shit. Okay, Tony might be maybe a little bit attracted to Loki.

But he sure as hell doesn’t want to tell Bruce that. “No,” he repeats, but it sounds uncertain even to his ears.

“Okay,” Bruce says agreeably, a knowing smile curling his mouth. He sticks a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth, balancing the bowl on his hip. “I meant what I said about you getting rest,” he says through the mouthful. “I had Jarvis ban you from the workshop until six in the morning. Everyone else is already asleep.”

“Jarvis obviously doesn’t realize that he’ll die with the rest of the world if you guys don’t let me finish,” Tony informs him, pushing the matter of Loki out of his mind. For now.

Bruce still has that curious smile on his face. “You know, you’re not the only one working on this. The fate of the world doesn’t rest solely on you, Tony. If you asked for our help you would get it.”

“Save it, Steve already gave me the lecture,” Tony says irritably.

Bruce holds up his spoon and bowl in surrender. “Alright, Your Highness. Seriously, go to bed.”

“I’m not a child,” Tony grumbles, knowing that he does, at the moment, sound exactly like one. He catches Bruce’s arm as he brushes past him and looks squarely into his hazel eyes. “I am trying, you know,” Tony says, the words thick in his throat. “To. You know. Be more—open, I guess.”

Bruce huffs out a soft laugh. “You have the worst trust issues on the planet; I’m surprised you’ve made it this far,” he says, and there’s a twinkle in his eye Tony recognizes as forgiveness.

Maybe there is something worthwhile here, after all.


	23. Chapter 23

Space.

The final frontier, Tony thinks sarcastically. But seriously, he’s actually in space again. Well, maybe. He can’t tell exactly _where_ he is. Everything is shrouded in shadows and any sound that might be present is muffled. His vision is blurred, only able to discern the barest silhouettes of objects, and flickering wisps of pale grey light race by occasionally. When he looks up he can see a sparkling swath of stars.

Tony wants to call out, but he’s seen too many horror movies and knows that the person who yells “hello” usually dies within the next three minutes. There’s a strange sort of hush, like the inside of a church or a graveyard that he thinks would best be kept undisturbed.

Reverence. That’s what it is. The silence is homage.

He sucks in a breath and blinks his eyes furiously, trying to clear away the blurriness. It doesn’t work, naturally, because he’s Tony Stark and the universe conspires against him. Hallelujah.

Instead, he takes one blind step forward, exhaling in relief when his foot sinks into what feels like cold sand. He’s barefoot, in the same clothes that he was sleeping in, sweats and a black tee.

With a start, Tony realizes he can’t see the arc reactor’s glow. At all. When he pulls his shirt up to search his chest with frantic hands, he realizes it’s not even _there_. Nothing but smooth, unmarked skin covers his torso.

Oh, he realizes dimly. He’s dreaming.

A voice startles him out of his thoughts, and shit, it’s _the_ voice, fire and lightning and bone.

“Strange place… to meet…. son,” the voice says, scraping like glass against pavement. It fades in and out, like a bad signal, and Tony starts stumbling blindly towards it, his breath loud in his ears and sand sinking around his toes.

He misses the reply in his mad scramble across the sand, but there’s a loud hissing laugh from the voice as it replies with something about foolishness. He’s racing as fast as he can towards the sound, and—

Something long and thin under Tony’s foot snaps.

The conversation stops immediately, deathly silence filling the air once more. The voice is the first to speak, the words curling into the air like serpents.

“Someone,” it says scornfully, quietly, “ _else_ is here. _Who did you tell?!”_ It roars suddenly, flaring up like a stoked fire.

The other voice—it’s deep, but not as rough, instead smooth like poured honey—hisses something quietly in answer. Before the voice says anything in reply to the deep voice, however, Tony’s just… gone.

He sits bolt upright in bed, breathing as if he’d run a marathon. A quick check with Jarvis shows that it’s only one in the morning, and Bruce had closed down his lab until six.

So that was admittedly a weird dream, and the fact that it had the voice in it is definitely disturbing… but it was just a dream, right? No reason—no _logical_ reason, anyway, that it would be, well, _true._

He carefully does not think about the last time he had a dream with the voice in it and lies back down carefully, still as stone and eyes turned toward the door. There’s a thick feeling of unease in the air.

Tony lies there for perhaps an hour, before his eyes start drooping and he’s fighting to stay awake. They feel so _heavy_ , and he closes his eyes for a brief second, intending only to clear away the grittiness stuck to the inside of his eyelids, before falling into a deep, deep sleep.

“Anthony. Are all mortals this incapable of opening their eyes? _Tony._ ”

“The fuck,” Tony grumbles, and pulls a pillow over his head. Then he pops up and stares in shock at his visitor, because that’s _Loki_. Standing very, very close to the edge of Tony’s bed.

“What the _hell_ ,” he stresses, “Are you doing in my room?”

Loki just looks at him with an unimpressed look on his face. “We have three days left until this realm is destroyed,” he says slowly, as if Tony is a slow toddler. “I thought you would want to work on the device that might, perhaps, _save_ this planet?”

Tony stares with a sinking feeling in his gut. Three days left. “Right,” he says faintly. Then he narrows his eyes. “Wait a second!” He yelps, surprised. “You called me Tony!”

Loki shifts the slightest bit before rolling his eyes. “You were not exactly responsive to my previous attempts.”

Tony scratches the back of his neck self-consciously under Loki’s intense gaze. He can’t help but notice insignificant details about him, like the fact that the cuffs of Loki’s sleeves are frayed slightly or that the black Asgardian boots he’s wearing fit perfectly around his calves.

It’s Bruce’s fault. All of it.

“Sorry,” Tony mutters eventually. “I was never really a morning person. More of a ‘stay up until morning’ person.”

“I noticed,” Loki says, and there’s a rich undertone of amusement to his words that makes Tony dizzy.

And now he’s here swooning like a pre-teen girl around her favorite celebrity. Jesus, he’s practically waxing poetics about Loki’s features. Which can’t happen, he has to work, and Loki is Loki. Obviously.

Loki opens his mouth, as if to say something else, and—

Tony needs to get away before he does something embarrassing.

“Out, out, get out,” he says, flapping his hands wildly. “I need to get dressed and I’m certainly not doing it with you in here. Shoo.”

“How could I possibly deny your wishes,” Loki says wryly, and Tony’s mouth goes dry. Right. Loki stands up and walks out of the room, presumably to go to the workshop.

Tony will never admit to checking out his ass as he goes. _Never_. Not under threat of death. He means— it never happened.

He groans as soon as Loki is out of earshot, burying his face back in his pillow. He’s screwed. It’s like Bruce flipped a switch in his brain, and now “Loki” is synonymous with “attractive.” Stupidly, amazingly attractive, really.

His one saving grace is that Loki didn’t see his morning wood, which is safely covered by the sheets.

Tony hops out of bed, intending to only get dressed before realizing—he stinks. Like, working-all-day-after-being-attacked-by-living-smoke stink. Shower time, definitely. He turns the heat on full blast, standing under the spray as the water soaks into his muscles, and Loki’s name presses tight against his teeth as he comes.

If this was an unexpected turn of events… so what? Nothing is going to happen from it. Tony just needs some time to get over it.

He pushes the incident out of his mind as he towels off, scrubbing his hair roughly before stepping into a pair of jeans and a Metallica shirt, scrunching the sleeves up to his elbows. To hell with it, he thinks, looking at the blue glow of the arc reactor under his shirt. He doesn’t care if Loki sees it anymore.

Which probably says something negative about his mental health. Tony sighs in resignation and shaves quickly before heading downstairs to the workshop, taking the stairs after throwing a dirty look towards the elevator he’s not allowed to use. When did he start letting his mansion get run for him?

He makes a quick pit stop in the main floor to grab some breakfast, because he hasn’t replaced the food he kept in the workshop and he hates calorie paste with a passion. The fridge is full of healthy food, which probably means Steve did a grocery run recently. Grabbing an apple and a bagel, he dawdles at the top of the stairs for a few minutes before heading down with a sense of dread.

Loki is already getting started when he types in his passcode and opens the doors—and wait a minute, holy shit, did Loki just bypass his security system?

“How the _fuck_ do you keep getting in here?” Tony yelps, nearly spitting out a chunk of apple. He’s more than a little nervous, especially if his security is compromised.

“Don’t speak when you’re chewing, it’s quite disgusting,” Loki says idly, head turned down to the sheets of metal he’s nudging into place with his foot. Surveying the metal laid out neatly on the floor, he doesn’t even look concerned.

“Seriously,” Tony says, edging around the large metal square warily. “Please don’t tell me my security system is compromised.”

“Only to every person possessing magic,” Loki says, and a furrow appears between his brows. He moves sideways slightly to look at the metal from another angle.

Tony’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I am,” Loki says, still paying Tony only the barest amount of attention. “’Kidding,’ that is. Though, in theory, any powerful magic user could perhaps just short out your system, rendering your protections useless.”

Dammit. Tony crunches the last bite of his apple and throws it into the trash can near the door. “Magic-proofing,” he growls through the mouthful, watching in satisfaction as Loki’s nose wrinkles up. “I don’t have time for magic-proofing. I don’t even know if it’s _possible_. Hey, what is that stuff anyway?” Tony gestures towards the metal sheet.

“Adamantium. I had your ghos—computer order it last night.”

Tony snorts. “Jarvis isn’t a ghost. Just good old-fashioned tech. Though, not really _old_ -fashioned, considering he’s more advanced than… well, anything, really. _Extremely-advanced-and-totally-awesome-_ tech, maybe.”

 _“As always, sir, you are too kind,”_ Jarvis interjects.

“Me? Kind? Preposterous. Don’t let Pepper hear you or she’ll shove ten new PR campaigns into my schedule. So we’re building the thing, then?”

Loki, who had looked up when Jarvis spoke, has a bemused expression on his face. “Yes,” he says slowly. “We are building the ‘thing’ as you so eloquently put it. The adamantium… it’s only a shell, something that I can put the absorbent into while keeping it contained.”

“Okay,” Tony says, still not seeing where this is going. He breaks off a piece of his bagel and pops it into his mouth. “So…?”

“You need to build this,” Loki says, pulling up a simple cube design, about 10x10 inches. As Tony looks closer, though, it’s not so simple after all. The five sides that make up the actual box shape are all supposed to be made of one sheet of metal and attached seamlessly together, while the lid had to be able to flip on and off—but when it’s on, it needs to be airtight, watertight, and (hopefully) life-destroying-energy-tight. Compared to his suits, it’s easy.

“We need a way to place the Tesseract inside the box while keeping it sealed,” Loki explains. “I will create the mixture for the absorbent and coat the inner walls of the box with it. Once the Tesseract is inside, I will activate it and we should have approximately 20 minutes before the absorbent fails.”

Tony shakes his head in confusion. “Okay, 20 minutes is most definitely _not_ enough time to get it a safe distance away, you bastard. ‘Enough time’ my ass. Two, why can’t we just find the Tesseract now and eject it to another galaxy?”

“Thor could manage, barely, to get the Tesseract a safe distance away within 20 minutes. However… you are forgetting something.” Loki reaches out and snatches Tony’s half-eaten bagel away before he has the chance to do anything about it.

Two glowing circles open on both sides of Loki, and he throws the bagel in one, catching it as it sails out of the other. “Portals,” he says, an amused expression on his face in reaction to Tony’s gaping mouth. Loki hands the bagel back and it brings Tony out of his scientific-wet-dream.

“Oh my—holy—you _have_ to show me how to do that,” Tony implores.

“I’m afraid it’s not a skill attainable by mortals.”

“Yeah, nothing cool is,” Tony grumbles. “So, we’re getting the Tesseract away with portals. I am living a science fiction novel.” He looks up to find Loki befuddled. Right. Probably don’t have a lot of sci-fi in Asgard. Or, you know, Asgard’s prison cells. “I still don’t get why we can’t do this ahead of time and save all the trouble.”

Loki sighs exasperatedly. “Thanos will not have the Tesseract on Earth, imbecile,” he says, rolling his eyes. His green, gorgeous eyes. No, stop. “The Tesseract will not be on Earth until the time set for it to detonate.”

“Wait, so we’re still not going to get there in time. If Thanos puts it down right as it detonates, then—“

“He will need time,” Loki says, cutting him off. “The destruction of a realm… while it has never been done before, it will most definitely cause problems. Ripples, I suppose you could put it. If he was still in the process of teleporting while Midgard was imploding, he would most likely be sucked back towards the destruction.”

“Like a black hole,” Tony says, nodding in understanding.

“Precisely. Teleportation is fast, but not fast enough.”

“So you’re saying we have a teensy little window where we can dump the Tesseract in this box, hope it doesn’t explode, and portal it away before it _actually_ explodes after eating away the absorbent?” Tony asks in disbelief. Why can’t they have an _easy-to-beat_ villain, for once?

“He will need at least ten minutes, perhaps more, in order to get away to one of his hideouts before the blast. If we can find out where he plans to detonate the Tesseract, we will be able to get to that location and execute our plan.”

 _Our plan_. “Why can’t you just take the Tesseract and portal it somewhere by itself, and not worry about the box?” Tony inquires, the thought occurring as he picks up a twisted bundle of circuitry and fiddles with it.

“If Thanos needs ten minutes to portal safely away from the blast, then so do I,” Loki says irritably. “Unfortunately, teleporting has a universal speed. I do not think you understand the repercussions of such an amount of power, Tony. The destruction of Midgard will not be an isolated event.”

That’s twice Loki has called him Tony in one day. Strange. “Okay, makes sense. _But,”_ Tony emphasizes, and he swears he sees Loki roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath. “We don’t know where Thanos is gonna be. Hell, we don’t even know where to _start_.”

Loki’s eyes glow an eerie green in the light of the faint blue holographs floating along the edges of the room. “We know that he holds a grudge against your team and that he desires my death. He has a flair for dramatics, as evidenced by the multiple destructions of locations significant to you. He has not targeted Thor or me yet with a specific bombing. The location will most likely be somewhere significant to everyone or significant to him or me.”

“Fast conclusion to jump to, Rudolph,” Tony says warily. “Wouldn’t he go somewhere totally unrelated, so that we _wouldn’t_ be able to deduce where he was going?”

“You forget that he is also overconfident,” Loki counters. “Thanos believes that he is indestructible; that he cannot be defeated by inferior beings such as yourselves. He will not consider you a threat.”

Tony snorts. “Thanks, I love to be considered an ‘inferior being,’” he tells Loki sardonically. “And, what, would he consider _you_ a threat? Just because you’re Aes—not human?”

Loki’s eyes narrow in suspicion and Tony bites the inside of his cheek in trepidation. He _knows_ that Loki _isn’t_ Aesir, that Loki grew up believing he was one thing and finding out another. Frost Giant.

“Why do you hesitate with your words?” Loki asks, and now his voice is sharp as a razor. He sounds like… before, when he was a mad mischief god inside a bare white cell.

“I didn’t hesitate,” Tony says, as steadily as he can manage. “You and Thor aren’t human. Kind of obvious.”

“True,” Loki muses dangerously. “Yet we are not the same type of being, are we?”

“I don’t know the specifics of demigod anatomy,” Tony says weakly, wincing slightly. He’s done it again. Foot, meet mouth. “If you say so, I mean—“

Loki is looking at him like he’s a stranger. And maybe he is, in some respects, but it still stings, a hurt that hits him more than it should.

“ _We are_ _not the same type of being, are we?”_ Loki snarls.

“No,” Tony whispers. He feels small under Loki’s piercing gaze, the brilliant green hardened and dark, like a diamond full of smoke.

“No,” Loki says agreeably. “And you know this, know _my heritage_ , how, exactly?” He spits.

Tony straightens up, and looks Loki square in the eye. “You shouldn’t be so ashamed of it, you know.”

“Thor told you, then,” Loki decides. “And—what?” Tony’s sentence seems to have just caught up with him.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed,” Tony repeats. He doesn’t know why he’s so insistent that Loki realize this. After all, Thor told them that the Jotuns were monsters. But… he knows what it’s like, growing up believing something before having the curtain ripped away. “It’s not your fault. You can’t help being _born_.”

“I shouldn’t be ashamed,” Loki mocks. “Well, I really must bow to your wisdom, _Anthony_. Of _course_ , it shouldn’t matter that my race is viewed as horrendous _ogres_. That I am the _monster_ in children’s bedtime stories. That if I was to show my true face I would be struck dead upon sight. That I am not alive out of _kindness_ , but of _politics_ —“

Loki stops, abruptly, as if he realizes how much he’s revealing. By now, he’s breathing hard, a flush filling his cheeks. His eyes glitter in the muted light, sharp enough to cut glass, while the bitter, tangy smell of metal and charred mint bursts in the air.

Tony is torn between getting the hell out of there and staying frozen in place. He keeps talking because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. “You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t know. It’s not—would you act like them, the Frost Giants, now that you know?” The _that you are one_ goes unspoken.

“Perhaps I should,” Loki hisses, and his lip is curled up in a snarl. “There is _nothing_ left, not the throne, not my so-called family, not even my life. What do I have to lose?”

“Look, I understand—“

“No. You do not understand. You all know _nothing_ , you and Thor and the _Avengers_ and blasted Odin, only pretending—“ He’s shaking, hands clenched into trembling fists as green light leaks out from his closed fingers.

“Alright, fine,” Tony yells. “You’re a Jotun, so what? You had a home and a family for _thousands_ of fucking years—you were—you were—”

Because at least Loki had a _home_ , at least he had parents who _loved_ him, even if they weren’t by blood. At least they weren’t _dead_.

Loki gives him a look that speaks volumes, his face bone-white. He clenches his fists and vanishes in an explosion of green sparks and Tony is left blinking at an empty room. He sighs and runs a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. That could have gone better.

Tony doesn’t know if Loki is even going to go through with building the absorbent now, but he might as well start on the box. The pieces of metal on the ground are slightly shifted, as if they had been blown away from Loki’s anger.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth that he can’t get rid of, not even after he drinks a glass of the strongest whiskey he has. Exhaling, he pulls up the design Loki had constructed yesterday and instructs Jarvis to start cutting the pieces to size.

He abruptly decides to make a fairly simple pressurized lid that would keep the box airtight, because really, there’s not much he can do to keep _pure energy_ locked inside a box. That’ll have to come from Loki. Assuming, obviously, that he’s still helping at all.

Tony doesn’t know. Every time he tries to do something he messes it up. He could blame it on the fact that he’s still wobbling unsteadily at the fact that he’s attracted to Loki, but he knows that’s not the case.

It’s no use trying to lie to himself.

He pushes the thoughts of Loki and of his past resolutely into a mental box and focuses his attention back on the earlier part of the conversation, before the whole… _incident_ happened. Unfortunately, Tony inserted his foot into his mouth before they actually got very far into where Thanos was going to show up. The hot taste of guilt floods his mouth again and he clenches his teeth.

Loki said that Thanos had a flair for theatrics; that he would probably choose someplace significant to the team, Thor, or himself. Thor has been everywhere the team has been, but as far as Tony knows, Loki has only been to New Mexico and New York.

Though, wait a minute. Tony frowns, wrinkling his nose at the whirring sound of the laser-cutter in the background as he pulls up SHIELD’s file on the New Mexico event and begins thinking through what Thor has told him in person. If Tony’s remembering correctly—and he has a pretty damned good memory—then Thor only said that Loki’s projection tricked him into thinking that Odin was dead. Then the _Destroyer_ was sent down to kill Thor and Jane Foster. So maybe Loki wasn’t in New Mexico at all.

Tony pulls a face and brings up a blank list, which he starts typing locations into. Next to _New Mexico_ , he adds a yellow question mark. He then marks down _New York_ , because that’s pretty obvious. _Wales_ goes down because Jane Foster is over there working with her intern, Darcy Lewis. He frowns at the small list of places, because unless he’s missing something, there’s not much to choose from. He doubts Thanos would make it that easy.

Loki did say that Thanos was overconfident, but they can’t rely on his ego being overinflated when they barely know anything about him. Still, Tony puts an alert on those four places so that he’ll be informed if anything strange happens.

He’s directing Jarvis to move the now-cut pieces onto a table when the door hisses open and Natasha strides in. She’s dressed in tight jeans and a dark, sleeveless purple top under a tan leather jacket. Purple is uncharacteristic of her and coincidentally Fury and Clint’s favorite color, so she’s probably been doing some persuading. Or seducing.

But it’s the annoyed expression on her face that terrifies him the most, not the speculations of her past activities.

“Tony Stark,” she growls, and oh shit. He is _dead_. “What did you do to Loki?”

Tony is startled enough by the question that he snaps out of his petrified trance. “Loki? What—“

“He locked himself in his room and whatever’s bugging him is seeping into the rest of the house.”

Crap. Tony can officially be labeled asshole of the universe, he thinks as his mind runs shamefacedly through that conversation again. The bitter taste of guilt invades his mouth with renewed force. But the rest of Natasha’s sentence hits him suddenly, because—

“ _Seeping?_ ”

Natasha raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms impatiently. “Yes, seeping. There is glowing green liquid leaking from the ceiling in the kitchen, where I was _attempting_ to have a cup of hot chocolate peacefully.”

Tony thought he was screwed before, but this is worse. Natasha nearly flayed the last person who interrupted her cocoa time.

“I didn’t—look, it was an accident, I was just—“ Tony attempts to spare his life.

“Being an asshole, yes, we know. _Fix it_ ,” Natasha practically roars at him.

Tony opens his mouth because he really, really doesn’t want to confront Loki, but Natasha narrows her eyes and he scrambles out the door, barely remembering to yell not to touch anything over his shoulder. He glances at the clock on the wall and crap, it’s already been half an hour since he blew up at Loki.

He makes his way as slowly as he can up both flights of stairs, avoiding the lines of oozy green stuff dripping down the walls. As he passes the door to the main floor, Clint pokes his head out and says, “Tony Stark, I’m going to kill you,” in a warning voice. The ominous effect is ruined by all of the green liquid tousling his hair up like gel and the streaks on his cheek and nose.

Tony flips him off halfheartedly and escapes up the second flight of stairs. He grimaces slightly and avoids touching the door handle that leads to the bedroom floor by pushing the handle down with his elbow. The liquid sticks to his sleeve and he frowns. He hopes that magical green slime comes out in the wash.

The hallway is dark, but the liquid glows a luminescent green and lights the hallway enough for him to see. It’s extremely obvious which door is Loki’s, as there’s a puddle of neon fluid coming out from under his door and painting the surrounding wall. The air smells strongly of mint.

“Hey, Loks?” He knocks hesitantly with the back of his hand after pulling the sleeve over his wrist. “Loki. I know you can hear me.”

There’s no answer from inside.

Okay, he’s not even sure if Loki is actually in there or if he escaped out the window or something. But if he doesn’t try to make amends Natasha will probably murder him. Besides, it’s not like any of the team are around to hear him embarrass himself any more.

Tony sinks down to the floor and leans back, suddenly feeling exhausted. The stuff sticks to the back of his shirt but he can’t bring it in himself to care.

He bows his head down slightly and scratches the back of his neck. “I hope you’re not looking for an apology.” He grimaces. “They’re not—not really my _style._ Everyone knows I’m a jerk, just ask the media. Natasha calls me an asshole every other day. I just—“ He cuts himself off when he realizes he’s rambling.

“Let me tell you a story,” Tony says firmly. “Once upon a time, you weren’t the only person with problems or people who’ve betrayed you. You still aren’t. Hell, when the name ‘Stark’ was printed on my birth certificate, I inherited a ton of money, a successful business, and a death count of millions that I only added to as I got older. You, my friend, had a home, and a brother, and a mother and father who surprisingly didn’t leave you out for the wolves.

“Just because you were born something doesn’t tie you down. It doesn’t mean you can’t change. Of all people, I know that best.”

Tony shakes his head ruefully, silent for a moment. “Look,” he says quietly, after a pause. “Nobody’s saying you haven’t been through tough times. But the thing is—we _all_ have. You gotta let this go sometime. You can’t run forever.”

There’s still no response from behind the door, and Tony sighs, getting to his feet. He leans his forehead against the doorframe briefly, the slime surprisingly cool on his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, almost a whisper, and leaves down the hall.

Tony goes back to the workshop, meeting no resistance along the way.

He fiddles around for a while before he remembers he’s supposed to be building the box. The box, minus the lid, will be made with a single sheet of metal folded into the correct shape. Right now it’s just a flat geometric net on the floor that he orders Jarvis to start folding carefully. The groans of bending metal sound in the background as Tony starts gathering materials for the lid. The adamantium sheet is thick, at least half an inch, so he’s glad he’s not the one who has to crease it into place.

As he lays out the materials he needs for the lid—a square of adamantium, some pressure-locking mechanisms and a few bits and pieces—his thoughts keep wandering back to Loki. The plan is _definitely_ not going to work if Loki can’t do his bit of hocus-pocus.

Tony asks Jarvis to pull up a security feed, but the picture is interrupted by static and fuzzy blotches. He didn’t really expect it to work, what with Loki’s magic and all, but Natasha hasn’t come down again to separate his head from his shoulders, so hopefully that means the green slime is gone.

He studiously does _not_ think about the little bit of his soul that he just bared to Loki.

What was he thinking? That he’d somehow be the one to reach that cold heart? Except that’s a lie; Loki doesn’t have a _cold_ heart—just a scarred one. And yet—why does he know that? Has he really spent that much time with Loki?

The line between enemy and ally is blurring, has been blurring ever since they picked up Thor and Loki working together as a team. Now that the team and Loki share a common enemy—one that seems more dangerous than anything they’ve ever faced—Tony has slowly but surely been coming to think of Loki as a _team member_. Not someone that they imprisoned in Asgard for wanting to enslave their world.

And isn’t that messed up. Unfortunately, it’s too late. Tony knows that if Loki turned against them now, it would be more of a betrayal and less of an expectation. And that’s not even mentioning the fact that he wants to fuck him senseless.

Shit.

But this is probably just Tony’s crush talking. He’s only interested in Loki for his icy good looks, not his witty personality and blazing smile and the adorable way he eats Lucky Charms.

It’s not as if he’s—

The pressure locks Tony was working on burst apart in his hands and he stares down at the broken pieces uncomprehendingly.

“No fucking _way_ ,” he mutters.

He’s not going to think about that—about what almost happened. Ever. It gets shoved into the dark corner of his mind that holds all of the other shit he never looks at, never wants to touch. Stuff like Obie and Howard, Afghanistan, and falling from that goddamned portal in _space_.

God, he’s messed up. That’s the whole reason for this, all of this.

Tony takes a deep breath and starts working on the pressure locks again.


	24. Chapter 24

It’s around late afternoon when Tony surfaces to get some food, oil staining his fingers but the completed lid sitting downstairs. The rest of the box is finished as well and right now he’s having Jarvis run some simulations. So far, everything seems sound.

Unfortunately, the box is still just a box with a fancy top until Loki decides to work his magic on it.

Tony shuffles moodily into the quiet kitchen, grabbing piece of bread and slathering some peanut butter on it. Turns out Thor likes peanut butter. A lot. Nobody else is present, they’re all probably… actually, he doesn’t know what they’ve been doing this whole time. Tony is an _amazing_ teammate.

Clint pops up next to him, startling Tony half out of his wits. He jerks backwards, just barely managing to save his peanut butter-bread from falling to the floor. Clint roots around in the fridge, giving no sign of acknowledgement, and comes up with a carrot stick between his teeth and slice of cake.

Damn. Tony hadn’t seen that deliciousness in the fridge.

However, the fact that he didn’t see it probably means that it’s Natasha’s, which means that Clint will probably be dead in a few hours.

Clint spins around and leans against the now-closed door. He stares down Tony for a second, his loud crunching of the carrot being the only noise. Tony stares back, nonplussed.

“So,” Clint says finally. “You’re an idiot, but I suppose whatever you did for your apology worked.”

Tony just gives him a questioning look, before realizing the green gunk is off Clint’s face and it’s no longer dripping down the walls. He clears his throat.

“Ah. Okay.”

“There’s something weird going on with you two, you can’t deny it,” Clint says dismissively, before Tony can get another word in. “Though it did take me _forever_ to get that stuff off. Ask Loki what it was next time you see him.”

“Ask him yourself,” Tony grumbles, stuffing the rest of the bread in his mouth and dusting off his hands.

“I would, but I’m pretty sure he’s in his room and the door is locked,” Clint explains around a mouthful of carrot. “I mean, we can’t _actually_ tell, nobody’s seen him, but the slime has stopped, at least.”

“Nobody’s seen him?” Tony asks, curiosity piqued.

“Nah. Though to be fair, I don’t think Bruce and Nat are here at the moment. Meeting up with one of Tasha’s friends who knows a bit about energy; she thought Bruce should meet him to discuss our… situation.”

“You’re not going?” Tony asks, faintly surprised.

Clint smirks. “Last time I saw him, he ended up hanging from the ceiling by the belt loops of his pants. I don’t think he has very warm thoughts towards me anymore.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “I wonder why,” he says sarcastically.

“Yeah, me too, I’m charming.”

“Sure, bird boy,” Tony mutters, turning back towards the workshop. “If you see Loki, tell him I’m finished with the box.”

Clint snorts. “You can’t just run away from all of your problems, Tony. Don’t make me the messenger; I hate messengers.”

“You said it yourself that nobody’s seen him and that he’s probably locked in his room,” Tony points out. “Besides, I already went up. I’m not going to nag.”

Clint stares at Tony like he’s grown a second head. “When did you get so polite? Jesus. You really—”

“What?” Tony asks. Now he’s just confused. Clint looks like he’s just been shocked with a cattle prod and his eyes are the size of saucers.

“Nothing, sorry, gotta go. Shooting and all that. Go talk to him!” Clint yells over his shoulder as he practically sprints towards the stairs leading down to the workshops and the gym.

“Uh,” Tony says intelligently, Clint whisking the door closed behind him. “Strange” would be an understatement for that conversation.

Thor wanders in then, opening a cabinet and rummaging inside before slamming it closed with a disgruntled look. “There are no more PopTarts,” he announces.

Tony winces and remembers with trepidation that Jarvis had warned him that they were running out. Though with all of the events happening recently, Tony had to admit that he had forgotten about it.

“They were supposed to be here by now,” Tony says, grimacing. “I had Jarvis add it to the shopping list, and they always make deliveries on Wednesdays.”

Thor frowns and Tony hopes desperately that his kitchen isn’t about to be destroyed. “They might be in another cabinet?” He tries.

Thor bangs open a few doors before he opens a cabinet that has around forty boxes of PopTarts stacked inside. He takes out two happily before adding, “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “No problem.” Looking at Thor more closely, though, Tony realizes that his knuckles are bruised and his eyes are shadowed. “Thor, buddy, you doing alright?”

“I am… as well as possible under the circumstances,” Thor replies, pausing in the middle of ripping open a box. “Unfortunately, I do not believe that I am much assistance in this type of issue. I admit it has started to grate on me.”

“It’ll be over soon,” Tony says grimly. He’s attempting to convince himself more than Thor. “One way or another.”

“Aye,” Thor says uncertainly. “Mayhap, afterwards, we can find a bit of peace.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, forcing a smile on his face. “That’s the spirit.” He claps Thor on the shoulder and escapes downstairs before he embarrasses himself trying to cheer him up any more. Tony was never a very optimistic person.

When Tony bursts into the workshop, he reels back, surprised. Loki is standing in the middle of the room, Tony’s completed box sitting on a table in front of him. He’s guiding a floating sphere of greenish colored material into it.

“Loki,” Tony exclaims disbelievingly after a long pause. “I—what—“

“We need to work, yes?” Loki says, his voice tight. The sharp lines of his shoulders hunch upwards slightly. “I’m sure I can manage to stay in the presence of your swinish ways for a few more days.”

“Thanks, I think,” Tony says faintly. He crosses the distance between them, reaching out to touch Loki’s shoulder. “Look, I really am—“

Loki jerks away, his expression shuttering closed. His dull eyes flame up suddenly with anger. “I am here to _work_. Not to bear witness to your fumbling attempts at apologies.”

Tony brings down his still-outstretched hand, pretending like his words don’t drive an ache into his chest. Loki is smart and manipulative and knows exactly where to land his punches so that they’ll hurt the most.

“Well aren’t you a peach,” Tony mutters, after he realizes that the silence has gone on too long. He feels awkward; uncomfortable like he hasn’t been in years, and the air in the room is wrought with tension.

Loki focuses back on the floating sphere and the box, completely ignoring Tony. After a minute of silence Loki spins around to face him and his eyes are so old, as ancient as the earth and the wind and the sky.

“You do not… realize,” Loki says haltingly, “What, exactly, I am. As a mortal, you cannot—the Jotun are the Aesir’s most hated enemies, but worse than that, they are shunned as little more than animals. Dangerous, yes, and heartless—in the old days they spilled blood without mercy, would murder children. But now, thousands of years after the war, after Odin took the Casket… the Aesir do not _fear_ them.” Loki’s face is pale and his jaw is clenched, staring at a point beyond Tony’s head. “Now they are no longer even given the respect of being worthy opponents. They are treated as broken down creatures that have lost their pride, fit for nothing but the purpose of mockery.”

“But you can’t help being born one,” Tony murmurs helplessly, his eyes fixed on Loki’s sharp face.

Loki gives a bitter laugh. “No,” he says, a humorless smile carving a dark slash onto his face. “As I could not help being taken in by Odin after the war. So I am seen as a traitor to both sides—in one, I am a spy and a monster that deserves to be slain. In another, I am a blood traitor for living the duration of my life with the enemy.”

Loki drops his gaze down to his hands, turning them over as he examines them. He curls his fingers into fists. “This isn’t even my true appearance,” he says, and the anger from earlier in the day has been leached out of his voice to leave a hollow shell. “Perhaps Thor told you that, as well. My own skin has been hidden from me my entire life.”

“It doesn’t matter what you look like,” Tony says uncertainly.

Loki laughs quietly. “Oh, Tony,” he says quietly, a dark humor leaking into his voice. His fists are clenched so tight the knuckles are turning white, the tendons in his hands popping out.

Suddenly, Tony notices that Loki’s hands are getting darker, turning a grey, ashy color. The color darkens further to a sapphire blue that slowly creeps up past his wrists and into his sleeves.

“Do you believe me now?” Loki asks thickly.

Tony looks up at Loki’s face and his breath catches in his throat.

His face and neck have deepened into a rich cobalt, overlaid with strange markings that carve over his forehead, cheekbones, chin. His skin toneis a striking contrast to the brilliant, newly red eyes set under winged brows.

It’s not terrifying. It’s fucking gorgeous.

Loki flinches backwards from where Tony has unconsciously moved forward. “You are stupider than I thought,” he hisses, looking cornered, and Tony realizes he said that last part out loud.

“Maybe you just needed fresh eyes,” Tony says. Standing this close to Loki, only a mere foot apart, lets him feel the chill that’s emanating from him. Loki’s peculiar scent, that strange blend of mint and metal, now is overlaid with the sharp, crisp smell of winter. “But I’m not lying, or mocking you. You don’t look like a monster.” He reaches out to touch Loki’s face, wants to run his hands along his skin.

“Do not touch me,” Loki hisses, his hackles raised. “My skin will burn you.”

“I’ll take the chance,” Tony whispers, and traces a finger over the marking on Loki’s forehead like a blessing. It’s freezing, numbing his finger almost instantly, and Loki shudders.

He closes his eyes for a brief instant, lashes dark against his cheeks, before he seems to pull himself together. “We must work. Time is of the essence.”

Tony reluctantly pulls himself away and watches with fascination as pink bleeds over the blue, the markings vanishing into smooth skin. When Loki blinks his eyes open again, they are their normal shade of vivid green.

Loki turns back to contemplate the sphere, and Tony hesitantly asks, “Is that the absorbent?”

“Yes,” Loki murmurs. His back is tense still, but with concentration, instead of… whatever it was that was plaguing him before. “And I used the last of my supplies to create it, so if you disrupt me again, your world is doomed.”

Tony looks incredulously at Loki, but he can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “Right. Shutting up now.” He stands in silence for a few more seconds, but he can feel the ants crawling up his skin and he grabs a haphazardly placed project sitting innocuously on a table and begins to fiddle with it. While he does, his thoughts stay firmly locked on the dark figure across the room, his mind inevitably going towards dirty places. He wonders what _else_ Loki could do in that form and grimaces, trying to banish his thoughts.

Still, though… the things Loki said, about being a traitor… Tony feels a surge of determination. If they pull this off, he hopes it can show Loki that he doesn’t have to do what is expected of his kind.

“What did I say,” Loki grinds out, “About disrupting me?”

“I’m not disrupting you,” Tony objects, remembering the device in his hands. “I need to do _something_ , though. Do you have any more ideas on where Thanos is going to plant the Tesseract?”

“No,” Loki snaps, but the barb is laced with… fondness? “Now _quiet_ yourself before I do it for you.”

Tony pleads with whatever Asgardian god there is up there that Loki can’t read minds, because he’s having some fairly inappropriate thoughts right now. Thoughts about Loki’s skin and mouth and—

Nope. Shut up, brain.

A few minutes pass by with nothing but the sound of Loki’s near-inaudible breathing filling the workshop. Tony bends his head down over his project—whatever it is—and tries to ignore him.

Tony sneaks a glance up at Loki, but the secrecy is unnecessary—Loki’s eyes are closed, his lips mouthing strange words. Suddenly, he opens his eyes, the irises a burning green, and one pale hand shoots out to hover over the sphere.

Slowly, Loki forces his hand down, the sphere moving unwillingly with it. As it gets closer to the box, the sphere starts to transform, the inside hollowing out and the previously round edges replaced by sharp corners. The newly created “box” made from the absorbent slides into the adamantium one silently, before it seals with a hissing noise.

“Is that it?” Tony asks, coming to stand beside Loki. His fake project lies abandoned on the other table. “We’re done?”

The absorbent pulses faintly, the same rainbow oil-shimmer Tony saw in the simulation winking at him in the harsh workshop light.

“We are still unsure of where Thanos will plant the Tesseract,” Loki murmurs. “Until we obtain that information, this—“ he gestures to the box, “—is useless.”

“Yeah, well, we still haven’t figured out how to find him,” Tony says warily. “Unless you’ve been hiding something from me.”

A shadow crosses over Loki’s face. “I have not hidden anything about Thanos’ intended location from you. I do, however, have a… suspicion.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony asks, a furrow forming between his brows. “What’s that?”

“New York.”

Tony turns to face him fully, a disbelieving look on his face. “Out of all of the places in the world, you think he’d go for _New York?”_

“I told you he has a flair for dramatics,” Loki says flatly. “I have told you that he is overconfident. New York is where the Chitauri invasion took place; it holds certain significance to him. Your team also resides here.”

“And he hates us and is obsessed with us, got it,” Tony says, sighing. “How can we be sure, though?”

“We can’t,” Loki says grimly. His lowered gaze suddenly snaps up and hits Tony full force. “I will do more… research, but as far as I can tell, if Thanos is planning on keeping the Tesseract off-world until the actual detonation, there is no way to guess his thoughts.”

“Wonderful,” Tony mutters. “Well… I think Bruce went with Natasha somewhere to talk with an energy specialist. When he gets back I’ll talk to him about any possible ways to track the radiation.”

Loki’s faint frown tells Tony exactly how he feels about that.

“You cannot track something that, for all intents and purposes, _doesn’t exist_ ,” Loki says in disdain. “It is most likely in a completely different dimension. Thanos has also placed a cloaking spell on the Tesseract, so any tracking spell I performed would have no effect, as evidenced by the fact that I was only able to track Amora through her necklace.”

“Okay, fine, makes sense, but…” Tony starts to pace, hands clasped behind his back. His fingers fiddle restlessly with his watch, spinning it around his wrist.

“But what?” Loki snaps. He’s on edge, anxious.

Tony sighs, realizing the overwhelmingly obvious flaw in whatever miraculous plan they could come up with. “But nothing. It doesn’t matter. You’re right. Even if we found a way to trace the current position of the Tesseract, we can’t predict the future or read Thanos’ mind.”

Loki looks contemplative but doesn’t say anything.

“We could stay in New York on the off chance that the Tesseract will be dumped here, but what if it turns out to be in Siberia or something? Unless you can use your sparkly pixie mojo to land us in another country, we’re stuck.”

“I…” Loki hesitates, an irritated look flashing back across his face at the mention of “sparkly pixie mojo.” “No,” he says reluctantly. “I cannot teleport anyone other than myself. Teleportation is… not easy. It takes a great deal of effort.”

Tony drops down into a swivel chair, spinning to face the table to he can rest his forehead against the cool metal. “So, that’s it, then?” He asks, his voice muffled by his arms, which are bracketing his head. “We’re screwed?”

“I would still be able to take the box and store away the Tesseract,” Loki says doubtfully. “But Thanos will most definitely send some type of force to guard the cube. He may be overconfident, but the Tesseract is precious to him. However,” he adds, forestalling Tony, “I still hold true to my belief that he will detonate the Tesseract here.”

“So you basically just want us to trust your word that Thanos is taking the cube here. What if you’re wrong?”

“Then we will all be obliterated,” Loki says wrathfully, and Tony can see the jagged edges of hurt still glinting in his eyes. “We shall all die, you and your team, and I with you, because I cannot leave this blasted realm.” He pauses then, suddenly radiating an aura of weariness. “But I am not wrong. Thanos will detonate the Tesseract in this area in two days’ time.”

“When?” Tony asks, lifting his head up and squinting at the bright light. He looks away, blinking, neon-colored sun spots overlaying his vision. “I mean—Do you know what time?”

“There is no way to tell,” Loki says. His skin is perfect—clear of wounds and blemishes—but his eyes are raw and dark.

“Let’s say I take your word for it,” Tony says cautiously, staring at Loki and his too-pale face. He pulls up a map of the state. “New York is a huge place. The Tesseract is, what, four-by-four inches? There’s no _way_ we’re going to find it within _ten minutes_.”

“That is something I cannot tell you,” Loki murmurs. “Unlike when the Tesseract was used to create a portal, this time Thanos does not need a location with a clear sightline of the sky. If he so preferred, he could hide it in an alleyway all the way across the city.”

Tony nearly growls. “Stop contradicting yourself. Do we need to find a way to track it or—“ He pauses, struck by a new thought. “No, wait. If you’re absolutely, 100% I’d-sell-my-soul-to-the-devil sure that it’s going to be in New York, we can find the Tesseract when it arrives, because it’ll give off an energy surge, correct? Yeah.”

“I would imagine so,” Loki says, raising his eyebrows.

So there’s no other way to do this than to monitor all of their systems for pretty much the entire day of the 23rd. Shit. Since Loki has no idea when Thanos is going to pop up, they’re pretty much screwed. “ _Ten minutes,”_ Tony mutters incredulously.

“We will be able to get there in time,” Loki says. He’s watching Tony with a strange look on his face, somewhere between laughter and regret.

“Mm. Sure,” Tony mutters. He breaks eye contact, unsettled by the expression on Loki’s face. He straightens, hopping out of the chair and backing towards the door. Checking his watch, he’s surprised to realize that it’s already near evening. “I’ll just tell the team our plan is a go.”

Loki’s eyes follow him, that peculiar look still on his face. Tony wonders about it long after the doors hiss close behind him and he reaches the main floor.

He opens the stairwell door that leads to the common room, prepared to round everyone up, and is startled to find everyone already assembled in the kitchen. Clint is preparing some sort of curry dish on the stove while Natasha dices vegetables with deadly precision, sweeping them into a bowl to be sautéed later on. Bruce is in charge of the rice, having the most actual knowledge of Indian food, but right now it looks as though he’s simply chatting with Steve and Thor, who are sitting at the breakfast bar. Thor can prepare simple things, but curry is a little out of his range in terms of the kitchen.

Tony remembers guiltily that it’s actually his turn for cooking tonight, but the team seems to have decided without him that they were taking over. The spicy scent of curry reaches his nose and his stomach groans. Bread with peanut butter isn’t a very fulfilling lunch.

The rumbling sound reaches Steve’s super-soldier ears and he turns to face him. “Hey, Tony,” he greets. “We figured you were busy, so…”

Tony nods in thanks. “Smells great. I doubt it can compare with your lunch, though, Clint.”

Clint’s eyes widen and he makes a frantic shushing gesture behind Natasha’s back. So she hasn’t found out about the cake, then. Her eyes flick up suspiciously but Tony simply grins.

“I didn’t know you guys would be back yet,” Tony says conversationally to Bruce as he walks up to join him at the breakfast bar. He hears Natasha hiss, “What did you have for lunch?” In Clint’s general direction and he splutters.

“Yeah, there wasn’t… much to talk about. It’s hard to locate an object that’s not even in the same _dimension_ that we’re in,” Bruce says, giving a lopsided grin.

“Right. About that,” Tony says, the grim reminder tightening his mouth. He stands up straight and raises his voice. “We finished the box.”

Steve is the first to respond, nodding sharply. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

All the eyes in the room are turned to him. It’s strange seeing Steve defer position like this and it does nothing to help ease the ball of anxiety in Tony’s chest.

“Thanos is going to drop the Tesseract probably somewhere in New York on the 23rd. He’ll need ten minutes to teleport out of range of the blast, which is how long we have to find the cube and snap it inside the box we built. That will give us 20 extra minutes, which Loki will use to portal the box with the Tesseract far enough away that nobody will be affected by it,” Tony pauses to take a breath. “We’ll be able to tell when and where the Tesseract will be when it arrives, because it’ll release an energy surge. Loki said that there’ll probably be some sort of guard sent down with the Tesseract as well, which is going to get messy.”

“Messy,” Steve repeats suspiciously. “Did he specify, at all?”

Tony shakes his head. “Nah, he didn’t say. I’ll ask him though.” Thor looks thoughtful at his response.

“So you guys are on speaking terms again,” Clint observes. Tony glares at him, but before he can say anything, Bruce cuts him off.

“New York? Again? How’d you figure that one out?”

Tony’s gaze drops and he winces internally. “We didn’t,” he says, raising his eyes to meet Bruce’s confused ones. “It’s a guess. An educated guess, obviously, but—“

“What do you mean, a guess?” Steve interjects. “We can’t just wait on a say-so—“

“We don’t really have another choice,” Tony cuts him off. “We’re pretty sure that it’s going to be in New York, though. You know. At least 80% positive.”

The others don’t look reassured.

“80% positive,” Steve repeats in disbelief.

“Yup.”

A silence reigns in the kitchen, broken only when Clint grunts, “Dinner’s done.”

Rice, curry, and cooked vegetables are served onto plates. Conversation gradually starts up again, Clint and Natasha muttering quietly about the next two days with interjections about cake. Steve presses Tony for details about the plan, though he waves as he finishes his mouthful of curry.

Loki slinks up sometime in the middle of dinner, somehow projecting an aura of both defiance and tentativeness. However, his disposition relaxes as Bruce pulls out the seat next to Tony and hands Loki a plate full of food.

“Tony?” Steve snaps his fingers in front of Tony’s face and he blinks, jerking his attention back to him. Steve’s watching Tony with an expression that makes him think that maybe he has some idea at what Tony was distracted by. Or rather, _who_.  
But right now, Tony is too content to be worried. Everything is going alright; they have a solid plan and now all they have to do is wait. A warm fondness glows in his chest—pride for Loki and for his team. For the first time, he wonders if they have a chance of _winning_ this.

“Tony,” Loki says, staring at him closely. Crap. He’s drifting again. Fortunately, no one besides Loki and Steve seem to have noticed his absentmindedness.

Tony gives a half-smile and turns back to Steve. “So, you were saying something about SHIELD?”

The rest of the dinner goes smoothly, the rest of the team excusing themselves early to turn in. Though Tony still feels confident that they have a good fighting chance, the optimistic feeling has dulled slightly, and he’s reminded of the fact they have one more day before it all goes to hell.

Loki and he are left standing in the kitchen, Tony loading plates into the dishwasher. It had been unanimously decided that Tony was doing the dishes since he had skipped out on dinner duty. Loki is no help whatsoever, leaning against the counter and examining his fingernails while Tony loads plates and mutters curses to himself.

When everything is put away and the dishwasher is humming behind him, Tony dries his hands and turns to Loki, who is suddenly very, very close to him.

“Loki?” Tony asks cautiously. He holds his breath, not daring to move, as Loki stares at him in that strange way again. Worry knots in his stomach. “Buddy? You okay?”

Loki’s eyes glint oddly, looking more yellow than green in the warm kitchen light. He sighs and a cool breath washes gently over Tony’s face.

“I am fine,” Loki murmurs, and his voice is so deep and low that Tony can barely hear what he’s saying. “You should get some rest.” _Rest,_ Tony thinks disparagingly. Loki is the one with shadows in his eyes and sorrow weighing down his footsteps. As he turns to leave, Tony grabs his arm. Surprisingly, Loki permits it, and it takes Tony much too long to pry his fingers away from the corded muscle of his bicep.

“Don’t—look, you’re with us now, okay?” Tony says tentatively. “You’re with me. ‘We’re all in this together’ sounds like a line from a cheesy sitcom and you know I hate all that Kumbaya bullshit, but it’s true.”

Loki narrows his eyes, making his face look disturbingly catlike, before nodding with a sharp dip of his head. “Get some rest,” he says again, and this time it sounds like a warning.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Tony says, nonplussed. He clamps down on the flickers of confusion he’s feeling at Loki’s tone of voice and slides past him, moving towards the stairs. When he chances a glance behind him, Loki’s form is still and dark as it cuts into the yellowy light of the kitchen.


	25. Chapter 25

Sand sifts under his toes.

_Where is he?_

Familiar blurriness makes Tony’s eyes water and he blinks rapidly. Strange, wispy streaks of light move on the edges of his vision, and he has a vague sense of recollection. But for the life of him, he can’t remember what it was. When he tries to chase the thought it escapes from his grasp like a leaf in the wind.

Something significant happened here, he’s sure of it. Tony can remember his unmarked chest and the cold black sand under his feet, but whatever _happened_ last time he was here is a blank void in his mind.

_Last time he was here._

Tony walks, one struggling step after another, picking a direction at random. He can’t see clearly enough to make an educated guess on where he should go. Squinting at the sky, he thinks it looks duller than it should. The white starlight is going grey.

A deep rumble shakes the ground and Tony drops, his hands and wrists sinking into the sand. Some of it makes its way into his mouth and he spits, gagging. The sand tastes like tar, the flavor pervading his mouth and settling heavily into his gut. Nausea spins his head and weighs down his stomach.

Tony gets up hastily and wipes the sand off on his pants, shuddering. Another tremor shakes the ground and he bends his knees slightly, trying desperately to plant his feet and keep his balance. The quaking stops suddenly and he straightens up, realizing that he can hear a voice. _The_ voice.

Shit. Tony remembers the last time he was here.

“You have wasted enough of my time already,” the voice grates. “Speak now, traitor, without deceit. What do you wish from me?”

Tony can hear the crackling voice clearly. Too clearly. As if the speaker was standing only a few feet away, which means he need to get the fuck outta here. The sandy terrain is flat and revealing, but large chunks of what looks like black ice erupt from the ground in clusters. Blurrily, he glances around, darting behind a chunk in what he thinks is hopefully the correct direction to hide him. The icy substance presses against his cheek in a stinging caress.

“I would not lie to you,” another voice replies. It’s the deep one, the same that was conversing with the voice before.

“You would, and without hesitation,” the voice replies. Its powerful tone has now been reduced to cold amusement, like a cat playing with a mouse. “It is, shall we say, ‘part of your nature.’ Yet we did not meet here to discuss your many faults.”

“No,” the deep voice agrees, and it’s so achingly familiar Tony wants to bash his head against the ice. _Who?_ “I wish for a… safe passage. One that shall get me out of this realm before it is destroyed.”

The voice doesn’t reply for a moment, seemingly caught off-guard. Then it starts to laugh, a horrible, twisted sound that curls into Tony’s bones.

“A _safe passage_ ,” it sneers. “Of all of the things to ask for, only you would choose the most selfish option. Why, were you not getting cozy down there with your _beloved?”_ It spits out the last word like poison.

“He is not my beloved,” the deep voice snarls, and while before its tone had been careful, calculating, it is now dark with hatred.

The voice seems to sense the shift in tone as well, and its voice cracks like a whip in warning. “Tread forward cautiously, princeling. You are the one pleading for your life.”

The deep voice doesn’t reply.

“It is quite a large favor you ask of me, letting one who has disgraced me so walk free without punishment. What do you have to offer me?”

“They have a device that can and will stop you. Your plan for Midgard’s demise will come to nothing. I offer you my… services,” the deep voice says delicately. “In exchange for a free passage out of this realm.”

“‘Can and will stop me,’” the voice muses. “Is that so. Forgive me if I do not believe that ones as small and young as the mortals will be able to defeat the power of the Tesseract.”

“I have seen the device with my own eyes, picked it up and examined it. You will not succeed if you leave them as they are.”

The voice considers for a moment before speaking with the shriek of wrenching metal. “You will bring the remnants of the device to ensure your passage. Rest assured, if the device is any less than you tell it to be, you, Loki Laufeyson, will meet your end with the rest of Midgard.”

“Agreed,” the deep voice— _Loki_ —says, but a buzzing static has taken over Tony’s ears.

He closes his eyes, because _that_ is why the deep voice sounded so familiar, why his manner of speaking seemed like that of a friend. _Loki Laufeyson_. The Trickster, the Liesmith, the Sly One, God of fire and mischief and magic. Loki always has an ace up his sleeve.

And Tony liked him, trusted him. Was _attracted_ to him. Was a little bit in—in—

What a fucking joke.

Betrayal roils in his gut like a storm and bile rises in his throat. He claps a hand over his mouth because he can’t afford to vomit or make noise so close to the voice and Loki.

Loki. Who would sacrifice the entirety of Earth in exchange for the chance to save his own skin.

The voice and Loki are still talking behind him. Loki’s voice sounds so detached, so different from the man flashing a smile at him as they worked, that it makes Tony’s chest ache. He can’t listen to this. He wants to leave, he _wills_ himself to leave—he has to get out of this forsaken place full of treachery.

But Tony is stuck, sinking gradually into the cold sand, his back going numb from the ice.

He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists— _there’s no place like home_.

_Home_.

He wakes up in cold sweat, his heart beating like a frightened bird against his ribcage. The arc reactor’s usually reassuring blue glow looks cold and impersonal in the dark bedroom and the sickening taste of sand and betrayal pools in his stomach.

It was a dream. It was most likely _just_ a dream, but there’s a ringing clarity to it that suggests more. He can still feel the black sand under his fingernails; feel the tingling sensation in his cheek from where the ice left its mark.

If it was _more_ than a dream, though… Tony doesn’t want to think about it.

“Jarvis?” He whispers. It sounds too loud in the hushed silence.

_“Sir. It is 2:06 am. You’re location is the Avengers HQ, New York, USA.”_

“Lights.”

The lights duly flick on, but at a dimmer level than normal. Sending silent thanks to Jarvis, Tony clambers out from under the covers and sits down heavily. His feet dangle by the floor and he wills away the childish fear that something will come out from under the bed and drag him into airless, stinking water.

Surely it was just a dream.

But he still has that double-checking paranoia, and the dream (or nightmare) won’t let him go. It nags at him, an itch he can’t scratch.

And, well…

It’s not like he’s going to get any more sleep tonight.

“Jarvis, give me Loki’s location.”

There’s a long pause before Jarvis answers. Even he is quiet, as if he can sense the tension winding up in Tony like barbed wire. _“I’m afraid I cannot detect him, sir. His magic is interfering with my scans.”_

“Of course,” Tony mutters, staring at the ceiling. It’s plain, some neutral color that the designers picked out—he gave them free reign because he doesn’t spend enough time in his room to care. No cold black sand or greying stars.

Tony pads quietly down the hall, tiptoeing past dark doorways. Everyone in the mansion seems to be asleep and he can hear Thor snoring like a motorboat from his room. When he reaches the end of the hallway, where the doors to the stairwell and the elevator shaft reside, he makes a split second decision—stairs are quieter.

They also take longer to get down to the lab, where the box is. Tony is stalling. Postponing the inevitable.

Though it’s entirely likely that nothing will be down there, right? Entirely possible that he will have gotten out of his secluded room for nothing, and that he will run into the lab only to find the usual, quiet jungle of machinery. But the nagging itch won’t subside, and that’s why Tony is walking down flights of stairs and shivering as the cold from the floor leaks into his feet. He forgot socks.

Tony pushes open the door that leads to the workshop, wincing at the loud clicking sound it makes. These large metal doors aren’t locked, really only there for fire safety, and it shows. Dread mounts in his stomach as he sneaks warily down the pitch-black hallway. He keeps one hand on the wall as he walks, feeling his way down the hall, the arc reactor casting dim light through his shirt.

The glowing blue keypad for the electronic lock to his workshop comes into his vision, and he squints slightly at how bright it is compared to the hallway. The glass wall that runs down the entire length of this side of the workshop is honed to a highly reflective sheen, splintering the blue light from both the keypad and the reactor in all directions until it fades to black beyond reach. But the glass is so polished that he can’t see inside.

Tony types in his passcode and the doors hiss open, the sound incredibly loud as it echoes throughout the room. Dummy, You, and Butterfingers are plugged into their respective charging stations, their lights dimmed as to conserve as much energy as possible. Tony strains his eyes, but there isn’t enough light to check on the box.

“Jarvis, lights.” His voice sounds scratchy, and he coughs to clear his throat. “Lights.”

Nothing.

Tony frowns, heading quickly for a manual light switch on the wall. He flips it after some difficulty—it’s stiff from disuse. Jarvis doesn’t have _glitches_.

The room stays stubbornly dark. Tony switches it up and down a few more times, but—

_Hiss._

_The doors._

Tony sprints for the suit, which is still on the table from all of the recent repairs. He shoves a gauntlet onto his hand and it clamps on automatically. Narrowly dodging a streak of green flame that races past his ear, he fires back with the blue beams of his hand repulsor. He knocks over a table so it forms a barrier and ducks under it, managing to get his right boot and the upper part of his arm clamped on securely.

“Jarvis!” Tony cries, like the desperate plea of a child calling out for his mother, but nothing responds.

Chancing a glance above the table, he sees Loki in the doorway, framed in a light that illuminates the rest of the room in toxic green. His eyes are burning chips of emerald in his face and the box is held tightly in one hand. The other hand is encased in a crackling mass of energy.

“I told you to get some rest,” Loki says warningly, and the sound of his voice brings back the memory of _that place_ and drives the ache deeper into Tony’s chest.

“How do you think I knew to come down here?” Tony yells back bitterly. Anger and betrayal and pure recklessness swirl like poison inside him, turning his heart dark. “How the _fuck_ did you think I knew to come down here?”

Loki’s eyes widen slightly, his mouth tightening. Realization crosses his face. “It was you. That first night. The eavesdropper.”

Tony snorts humorlessly. He ducks down again behind the table, dragging pieces of the newly repaired Mark XIV with him. “Trust me, honey, I didn’t want to hear _any_ of that,” he grunts, managing to put on his other gauntlet and forearm guard. The pieces slide on, securing themselves, and he flexes his fingers. The energy from the repulsors hums at the edges of his hearing.

He looks up in time to see Loki’s eyes narrow before he has to duck down to dodge another blast of energy. “What was this, then, some kind of sick joke?” Tony spits, crawling sideways. The other parts of the suit are lying innocuously on another table out of his reach. He glances around, and… there. It’s a large piece of welding machinery. If he just can just change the angle…

Tony vaults out from behind the table, sweeping the pieces of the suit off the worktable and into his arms, ending in a roll that lands him behind the welding station. Loki shoots more green fire at him, but Tony gets the feeling that Loki isn’t aiming to kill. Looking behind him, he can see the damage that the bolts of energy have done to the rest of the room, and thinks with a sinking feeling that Loki could probably have just blasted him through the table if he wanted to.

“Was this all just a bit of fun, then? The whole ‘plan’ to stop Thanos? Did you just want to fuck around with us before hightailing it out of here?” Tony calls out hoarsely, trying to keep Loki talking while he struggles to put on his other boot.

It’s not just a stalling act, though. He’s angry, so _fucking_ angry with Loki, but angrier with himself. He can’t help but wonder—why? Why would Loki have such a change of heart? Unless, of course… this was his plan all along. The thought makes Tony sick.

“I did no such thing,” Loki hisses, and Tony is brought back out of his whirlwind of thoughts. He can hear Loki taking quick, flighty steps in a pattern that repeats over and over. Pacing. “I would have wished to… spare you this pain.”

“Yeah, well, then you shouldn’t have _fucking done it_ ,” Tony snarls. “I’ll ask you again—was this your plan all along?”

There’s a long pause in which Tony closes his eyes, already knowing his answer. “So we were all little puppets in your game of cat and mouse,” he says quietly. “That was really fucking naïve of me, wasn’t it, to think that you were _better?_ To think that maybe you wouldn’t sacrifice the whole world for a _safe passage?”_

“No,” Loki says forcefully. “You don’t understand. I have been hunted by him since the Chitauri invasion, and I know— _I know_ —that he cannot be stopped, not even by you.”

“Hunted?” Tony says incredulously. “You’ve been sitting pretty in _Asgard_ since the Chitauri invasion!”

“A cage cannot stop a creature that walks through dreams,” Loki says, and his voice is shadowed. Tony peeks out from behind the machine and sees Loki’s face is dark with memory. Loki catches sight of him and shoots another energy bolt, Tony ducking back hurriedly. The bolt streaks past his head and singes his hair.

“Stay back,” Loki warns, his voice resolutely hardened into stone. “I will not have you take away my one chance at freedom.”

“You _selfish bastard_ ,” Tony spits, clapping on an upper thigh piece and wincing as it clamps too tight. “You utter—I can’t _believe_ you. You’re waltzing out of here to leave as all to destruction. _What was the fucking point?”_ He’s roaring at Loki, eyes blurring, and he dashes away the tears angrily. Now his own body is betraying him.

“There was no point!” Loki shrieks back, and the mass of green energy in his hand flares up brighter than a supernova. “You were trivial, unimportant, a mere _stepping stone_ , and then I ended up car—“ Loki cuts himself off suddenly, and when he speaks again his voice is smooth and controlled and spoken through gritted teeth. “I do not want to hurt you,” he says quietly. “If you do not attempt to confront me, no harm will come to you.”

Tony’s vision goes white with rage. “No harm? _No harm?_ Wake _up_ , Loki, in two days we’re _all_ gonna die. And it’s going to be nobody’s fault but yours.”

“That is false,” Loki says stiffly, weakly. “Nevertheless, I stand true to—“

Tony stands up, his eyes hardened chips of flint, and blasts him square in the chest with both repulsors. Loki is blown back through the doorway and hits the wall with a sickening crack, the box clattering down to the floor in a smoking ruin behind him.

Hope and dread war in his heart as he walks cautiously to Loki’s prone form. He stays well inside the workshop, though—there’s no _way_ Loki took too much damage from the repulsors if he walked away unharmed from the Tesseract-powered cannons.

But Loki doesn’t move. Dust is falling through the air and Tony thinks something is smoldering in the workshop behind him, a light shooting out sparks above his head. The acrid scent of smoke fills his chest as he squints to see Loki’s face.

He’s only taken one more step, his hand outstretched, when Loki’s eyes open. Bright green and burning with pain or rage or both.

Time slows down to a series of snapshots.

Loki is throwing something at him. Something small and round and _silver_.

_The EMP grenade._

It lands at his feet before bouncing and rolling under a table. Tony stares at it helplessly.

_Eight. Seven. Six._

Broken lights glinting off his armor. He can’t—

_Three. Two._

Tony looks up to meet Loki’s burning gaze and sees sorrow.

_One._

The grenade explodes in a shockwave of sound, filling Tony’s ears with a muted roar. He catches a glimpse of Loki’s hair flashing in the light before he crumples, all of the armor on his body turning as unresponsive as cement. The arc reactor flickers in his chest.

The concrete floor is cold and hard against his back. Blood trickles from his nose.

He wonders why Loki didn’t just kill him.


	26. Chapter 26

Light.

It’s blinding and Tony winces, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Jarvis, turn it off,” he mumbles.

 _“Sir, I really must insist you get up now,”_ Jarvis says. His voice is borderline frantic, something Tony almost never hears. It wakes him up instantly.

“What the—“ He stares around the destroyed workshop, tables overturned and tools scattered everywhere. Charred wreckage is strewn about, but it’s no longer smoking. “Jarvis, what—“

His gauntlets are on his hands. Tony closes his eyes, the flood of memories rushing back to him. _Loki_.

The EMP grenade—that Tonygave _Loki, he’s so fucking stupid_ —disabled all of the armor he had on him. Tony clambers to an upright position awkwardly, as he can’t grab anything or bend his joints. Every limb with armor on it feels as though it’s encased in cement.

Tony thumps down heavily on a chair, maneuvering the arm sheathed up to the shoulder next to him with some difficulty. “Jarvis, get this off,” he says snappishly. Normally, wearing the armor is no problem, but right now it’s working against him instead of working with him.

_“I am attempting to restart all systems, sir.”_

“What time is it? Where is everyone else?” He’s anxious, tense, and he doesn’t know how much time they have left.

 _“When Mr. Laufeyson… departed,”_ Jarvis says carefully, _“He put the team into what I presume to be a magically induced coma. You were also affected, though, like you, the others seem to be regaining consciousness. However…”_ Jarvis pauses. “ _The time is now 12:02 on the morning of September 23rd.”_

Dread sinks like a rock in Tony’s stomach. “You mean to say that bastard put us under for _24 hours?”_

 _“Unfortunately, you are correct,”_ Jarvis says. _“Today is the autumn Equinox.”_

“No,” Tony whispers. A _ping_ lets him know that the armor has rebooted and he wrenches the pieces off angrily, flinging them carelessly across the room. “No fucking _way_.”

Another piece of information from last night— _yesterday_ , hits him in the chest and he practically stumbles. _The box_. He destroyed the box, their only plan at defeating Thanos. Blasted it with a repulsor when he was trying to hit Loki. _Shit_.

Helplessness roils in his stomach. They don’t stand a chance.

“Jarvis, get the others up,” Tony says. He’s so tired, so goddamned weary, that all he can feel at Loki’s betrayal is numbness interspersed with a constant, dull ache. “Assemble them in the conference room. We have… a lot to discuss.”

 _“Of course, sir,”_ Jarvis says quietly.

Tony scrubs his freed hand over his face and starts making his way towards the stairs. He can imagine just how well this is going to go down with the rest of the team.

He gets there first, which is no surprise, as Jarvis said the rest of the team was just waking up. He locks the conference room door behind him and sits down in the same chair he was in just a few days ago. Now, bombings seem almost trivial compared to what they have in store for them.

Clint bursts in first, scowling at Tony once he opens the door. “Tony, what the hell is going on, and why is Jarvis telling me that it’s the 23rd already?” He asks sharply. Clint’s expression is grim, more serious than his words let on.

“I’ll explain once everyone gets here,” Tony says tersely. He taps his fingers against the glass table anxiously, spinning a pen in his other hand. He stretches and winces—having been caught in the same position for 24 hours has made him stiff. Judging by the way Clint rubs at his arm, he’s feeling the same way.

The rest of the Avengers file in soon after, eyes dark and expressions tight. It’s evident that Jarvis has already told them the date and time. Tony repeats the same message he told Clint and they take their respective places around the table.

Bruce is the last to come in, opening the heavy metal door and shutting it quietly behind him. “What’s going on, Tony?” He asks, taking his seat at the table. There’s a gap where Fury, Hill, and Coulson sat last time.

The rest of the team turns toward him expectantly and Tony swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.

“So, I’m guessing you all heard how it’s the 23rd,” he says in a weak attempt to stall the conversation ahead of him. Natasha simply narrows her eyes, clearly saying _get on with it_.

“It’s probably best to start at the beginning,” Tony says, and now _everyone_ looks suspicious. Shit. “When I was under the… influence, of the Chitauri parasite, I heard a voice. After I coughed up the parasite, I heard it again, this time in a dream. I dreamed of the voice for a third time, the night of the 21st,” Tony says. He shakes his head slightly in confusion. The rest of the team is staring at him like he’s an interrogation subject or that he’s bonkers. Only Thor looks undisturbed by the turn of events, regarding him gravely. “Except this time, it was talking to someone else, someone familiar. I didn’t know who it was, though, and I didn’t hear much of the conversation, but when I woke up… It’s stupid, right? Dreams. Nobody has dreams that are _true_.

“But then, last—two nights ago,” Tony corrects, “I dreamt of the voice again, and I eavesdropped. The voice and the other, more familiar voice were talking about us, and a plan. The second voice was asking for a safe passage out of here before Earth was destroyed. The first voice said that there would be… a price.” Tony takes a deep breath, the rest of the team sitting frozen in front of him. “The second voice said that the first voice’s plan wasn’t going to work, that some people had a way of stopping it. The second voice said he would destroy the device that could terminate the plan in return for the passage he requested.

“Needless to say, the second voice was Loki,” Tony says numbly. The team is full of mixed reactions: Thor’s face twists with grief and he clenches his fists while Natasha and Clint look blank-faced. Bruce just seems shocked, stunned into silence, while Steve’s expression crumples slightly. Betrayal wears many faces, Tony thinks grimly.

“I still didn’t think it was real, not really,” Tony says, struggling to pull his fraying sanity together. They need to find a new solution, _fast_ , and that means explaining everything. “But I went down to the lab around two am, just to check. I found Loki. We got into a fight and the box was destroyed.” At this, the team sits straight up and their expressions morph into ones of horror. They know that the box was their one and only plan. “He knocked me on my ass with an EMP grenade and high-tailed it. Jarvis was also offline, so he doesn’t know the details on what happened, but his guess is that Loki put us into a magically induced coma so we couldn’t come after him. Problem is, the coma has lasted for a full 24 hours. And now… I don’t know what to do.” Tony’s throat is tight and his voice is hoarse. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He can’t _afford_ to do this anymore. Whenever he trusts someone, they end up fracturing his soul.

Steve looks at him closely, sympathy in his eyes but hardness carved into the lines of his face. “Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Alright. We need to figure out a plan in the next…” He checks his watch. “Nine or ten hours. Thanos is supposed to attack in the afternoon, correct?”

Tony runs his tongue over his teeth and cringes inwardly at the taste of his mouth. Like tar. “Yeah,” he says uncertainly. “Yeah, but that’s what _Loki_ said, and…” He trails off, the meaning clear. Steve’s mouth tightens into a thin line.

“So we’ll need to be on constant alert, then,” he decides. “Bruce, you have something that can detect the Tesseract, right? Monitor that throughout the day, and send out a ping if you find something. Everyone keep their comms on, no exceptions.”

Bruce nods and asks Jarvis quietly where the energy scanner is. Clint narrows his eyes, however.

“We have _ten minutes_ to get there. Even if it is in New York, I can’t get to the other side of the city in that little time.” Clint sounds cold and his face is stony.

“Right,” Steve says, wincing. “I guess…”

“We’ll go to the quinjet if we’re close enough,” Natasha interrupts smoothly.

“I can take someone,” Tony volunteers. He gazes as steadily as he can manage at Natasha, who’s looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Thor probably can, too.”

“I am able to carry one with ease,” Thor agrees, his bare arms resting on the table. “I should have the ability to carry two.”

Clint turns to Bruce. “If you can’t reach the quinjet in time, you’ll have to go as the Hulk,” he says grimly. “Sorry, Jolly Green, but property damage is pretty low on our priority list at the moment.”

Bruce looks unhappy, but nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“So that’s how we’re going to get there,” Steve says, jumping back into the conversation. He rubs a hand along his jawline, thinking. “How are we going to stop it? Tony, this is more your area than mine, you and—you were the one working on it.”

Tony exhales, slowly. _Get it together_. He turns to the team and clears his mind of all thoughts of Loki, pushes them back in that dark little corner. They have much, much bigger things to worry about than his bruised heart.

“The problem is, the Tesseract can’t be stopped. Nothing can absorb that much power, except maybe Cap’s shield, but that’ll still only absorb it from one direction. You all know the plan was to put it in the box that would keep it from exploding for 20 minutes, but even then we would have to transport it somewhere else before it detonated. Now, we only have… ten minutes to get it to a safe distance.” Tony shifts uncomfortably.

“Can anything move it that fast?” Steve asks, at a loss.

Tony grimaces. “I can’t. If we could attach it to something like a rocket, maybe, but they weigh a ton and they’re too big to fit inside a jet. We wouldn’t be able to get the one there in time.”

Clint looks suspicious. “Where would we get something like that?”

Tony looks at him flatly. “I could make it. Give me three hours, tops, and I’ll do it.”

“I will lift it,” Thor interjects, leaning back and crossing his arms. “However, that would mean that I could not transport one of you. One of the members I was planning on taking would have to find an alternate route.”

“Natasha, Clint, Bruce, you three will probably just have to stay near the quinjet until the Tesseract is detected,” Steve orders, looking apologetic. “Tony, you should start making the rocket or whatever it is. The sooner, the better—after all, we don’t know when Thanos is going to strike. I’ll go with you or the quinjet, whichever I’m closer to.”

There are nods from all around. Commands from the Captain are not to be disobeyed. Besides, this is all a last ditch attempt anyway. Tony’s chest clenches.

“This is going to require constant readiness, I’m afraid,” Steve continues. “Combat gear on at all times; there will be adversaries coming through with the Tesseract. Weapons should be cleaned and ready. If you need to sleep, do so around another person so they can wake you up, as Loki has unfortunately, compromised Jarvis. What’s the news on SHIELD?”

“Fury has been trying to reach us for the past 24 hours,” Clint says, eyes glued to the phone that he pulled out of his pocket. “Not surprising, he loves us. SHIELD knows that the Tesseract is going to detonate today, but they don’t know when or where—we kept that information… confidential.”

“They’ll be able to pick up on the location of the Tesseract when it arrives, same as us,” Natasha says from her position next to Clint. She’s looking over his shoulder at the phone in his hand, but looks up to meet Tony’s eyes. “Five minutes is enough time to put in a nuke.”

“Talk to Fury, convince him not to,” Steve commands, but his face betrays his worry. “If we stop it, we stop it. If not, we all die anyway, and sending in a nuke is not going to help matters.”

“The order doesn’t come from Fury,” Bruce says, watching them intently. “It comes from the Council. That’s going to be a lot harder to stop.”

Natasha is unyielding. “I’ll convince them,” she says firmly.

Steve nods, once, to himself, as if confirming something. “Alright, then. Dismissed,” he says crisply.

The team scatters, off to perform their respective duties and suit up. Everyone was in civvies—sleepwear, actually—when Loki caught them. Tony stands up, about to head out the door with them, but Steve stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Look, Tony, I just wanted to ask if you’re—well, if you’re okay,” Steve says, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. “I know you were… closer to Loki, I suppose, than the rest of us were.”

Tony looks at him bleakly. “Obviously not that close,” he says coldly, and brushes past Steve to leave the conference room. Steve lets him go.

He heads back down to the workshop, his thoughts spinning in a whirlwind. He’s torn between furious, white-hot anger and crushing disappointment. But he’s always been good at compartmentalizing, so instead of feeling either, he pushes it aside. Tony Stark always focuses better with an immediate task at hand, and he gets the feeling that’s why Steve’s not pressuring.

The workshop is still mostly a wreck, tables overturned and gaping, charred holes where Loki shot his green fire, but they don’t have time to clean it up. Instead, Tony clears away an area where he can work, and starts searching the ground while he orders Jarvis to keep an eye out for any energy flares.

He finds what he’s looking for scattered in chunks under a table, and carefully gathers up the pieces, forcing himself to overcome his instinct to recoil and throw the pieces as far away as possible.

See, when he told Clint “rocket,” he didn’t really mean it. What he was really planning on designing was “missile.”

Tony lays the wiring from his blackout engineering session on a cleared table and scans it. Pulling up a holograph of the scanned design, he narrows his eyes in focus, adding onto the design until there’s a 3D model floating in front of him.

“Jarvis, it’s time to work your magic,” he says absently. “Start cutting out these pieces.” He separates the outer casing and a few parts that will need to be custom-cut and flicks them in a general direction. Looking down at the mangled wiring on the table, he sighs. It’s going to require complete rebuilding.

Clenching his jaw, he sets to work, the lab too quiet around him. Loki’s voice is noticeably absent.

“You bastard,” he mutters under his breath, as he pulls on his gloves and starts soldering. “You complete, utter _bastard_.”

Tony pauses his work long enough to pull up some music. He turns it up so loud that it drowns out his traitorous, traitorous thoughts that wish for Loki to be back by his side.


	27. Chapter 27

Tony finishes the missile in record time, the fastest he’s ever made something of that size—it’s ready to go in just under two hours. It’s something completely new, technology not even created yet, and he’s glad. Tony can only imagine what could happen if people got their hands on missiles that could penetrate the atmosphere and go in _space._

He sits back, wiping his brow, and looks at the hunk of metal critically.

It’s blunt, nothing as graceful as his suit, but he can still see himself and his style in the design. It makes his lip curl in disgust, but although it looks like a shark, predatory and dangerous, there are no extra explosives in it. He made sure of that. It’s purely a transport device.

The missile sits on the table, a constant presence in the corner of his eye as he pieces the Mark XIV back together. Luckily, Loki hadn’t damaged it too much, and even the EMP grenade only temporarily disabled it. Other than a few cosmetic problems, it’s good to go, and he’s not going to repaint the whole thing when the team is pretty much “on call.”

On call for a cosmic explosion, Tony thinks grimly.

He comms Steve, who answers immediately. “Iron Man. What’s the situation?”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “I thought we established that code names were only for when we were actually in the field.”

He can hear Steve sigh through the comm. “Fine. _Tony_. What’s the situation?”

“I finished the missile and my suit is ready to go,” Tony says, idly picking at a bit of chipped paint on a gauntlet.

“That was fas—wait. Missile? I thought you were building a rocket,” Steve says suspiciously.

Tony cringes inwardly. _Fuck._ “Whoops, slip of the tongue. You know how it is. What’s the news on Bruce?” He asks hurriedly, before Steve can get a word in.

There’s a long pause on the other end, before Steve says, “Tony, I need to know if you’re planning on making a weapon like this.”

“It’s not a weapon,” Tony mutters, feeling like a scolded child. “What’s the news on Bruce?” He repeats.

Steve sounds unhappy, but doesn’t push. “Nothing. No sign. Do you want ice cream?”

Tony blinks.

He wonders if he heard that right. “…Ice cream? What?”

“Ice cream,” Steve repeats, as if Tony is the delusional one here. “Last day on Earth, right? Everyone else is going. We’re taking the quinjet. Now that you’re done, you might as well come with.”

Tony’s eyebrows threaten to escape into his hairline. “Ice cream. Who’s idea was this, again?”

“Clint’s, actually,” Steve says, sounding unconcerned. “I know, it sounds like something Thor would come up with, but…” He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is less certain and more pleading. “We haven’t seen you very much for the past few days. Just… come on.”

Ice cream. “Alright,” Tony says, surprising himself.

“Great,” Steve says, and he’s happier now but there’s sadness edging his words. “Are you flying in the suit or in the jet?”

“Suit,” Tony replies. “I need to carry the… the rocket.”

“Roger that. Over.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

Tony mutters to himself darkly about protocol and idiots, but he can’t deny his mood has been lifted slightly. If only there was a certain, green-eyed Trickster that—

No. He needs to stop. Loki is gone, worlds away with his “safe passage” and Tony needs to accept that. He needs to realize Loki isn’t coming back. Not now and not ever.

His chest aches.

Tony puts on the suit, a job made much quicker by the fact that Jarvis is online again, and gathers the missile clumsily in his arms. “On second thought,” he mutters, and attaches a coil of woven metal cable around the missile so he can carry it easily with one hand. Wouldn’t do any good to have him crash into the side of a building because he was bear-hugging a giant hunk of metal.

“Alright, Jarvis,” Tony says, fixing his gaze on the window and readying himself. “Let’s fly.”

_“It would be my pleasure, sir,”_ Jarvis says, somberly. The window slides away and Tony shoots into the autumn air, a red and gold streak taking off towards the sky. It’s still dark, the city lit up with a thousand blazing lights like a beacon.

He comms Steve. “Where are we actually going?”

“Er,” Steve says uncertainly. “We’re… well, it’s some Italian place, I’ll have Jarvis get the address for you from Clint. We’re just taking off.”

A new thought strikes Tony. “Right, right. But is the place going to be open?” He asks incredulously. “It’s _three in the goddamned morning_.”

Steve’s voice falls into disappointment. “I didn’t think about that.” The line goes quiet for a second, but there are muted voices in the background, like Steve is muffling the comm with his hand.

Suddenly, Steve’s voice comes back clearly. “Clint said he knows the owner and called him in advance. Also, he _swears the man doesn’t mind, right?”_ Steve raises his voice and Tony can hear Clint snarking in the background before he cuts himself off with a yelp. Probably Natasha’s fault.

“Alright. I’ll meet you there,” Tony says abruptly, and disconnects. He sighs, shifting the missile sling-thing to his other hand. “J, you got the coordinates?”

_“Indeed, sir. Displaying.”_

A map of New York pops up, overlaying his vision, and Tony sees a blinking red dot that is presumably the ice cream shop. He laughs to himself, quietly. This is the dumbest fucking idea and he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Tony banks to adjust his course. He flies quickly, anxious to reach the rest of the team, and lands with a clink of metal on the sidewalk. The missile clatters down next to him. Looking up, he can see the parked quinjet on the plaza that he’s standing on.

He rolls his shoulders and glances around—it’s easy enough to spot the ice cream parlor, as it’s the only store lit up on the street. There’s not a soul to be found nearby and Tony scans the area suspiciously, but it looks as though everyone is asleep. Except, of course, whatever poor ice cream man Clint dragged out of bed.

Walking towards the parlor, he retracts his helmet. The shop is painted cherry red and the awning is striped red and white, like a candy cane. Tony opens the door with one gauntleted hand, taking care not to break the handle off in his grip. It’s happened before.

The door opens and a bell chimes, signaling his arrival to the team. They’re sitting comfortably on spinning, cushioned stools, deciding what to order. Bruce and Steve turn around and greet him—Clint, Natasha, and Thor are too busy bickering or being enraptured by the food, respectively. Behind the counter, a black-haired man in an apron is interjecting periodically into Clint and Natasha’s argument in fluid Italian, though he does look a little dazed. Tony snorts to himself—they make quite a sight, suits on and weapons at the ready, with a massive jet and a missile parked out front.

Letit never be said the Avengers aren’t conspicuous.

“Hey, Tony,” Bruce says over the strange conversation taking place a few stools down. “Sit down, nobody’s ordered yet. We thought we’d give… um, Nico, I think his name was… a little time to adjust.”

“He seems to be adjusting pretty well,” Tony says with a half-smile, tipping his head to where Nico just whacked Clint upside the head and is now speaking rapidly in his general direction, while Natasha looks on in amused silence.

“Well, if Clint knows him this well, he’s got to be used to some pretty strange things,” Bruce says, huffing a laugh.

“Hey, I heard that and I resent it,” Clint calls from down the bar, still rubbing his head indignantly. Nico and Natasha are outright laughing at him now, and Tony cracks an unwilling smile. When he looks back at Steve and Bruce, though, their eyes are dark.

“You—“ Steve says, before stopping himself abruptly. “Let’s order.”

“Sure,” Tony replies warily.

“Hey!” Steve calls down the bar. Natasha, Clint, and Thor all turn to him in attention. “Settle down, you lot. We’re ordering.” He smiles apologetically at Nico.

“Mother hen,” Bruce mutters out of the corner of his mouth, looking at Steve fondly. “Mr. Nico,” he requests, “I’ll have two scoops of… hm. Nutella.”

“I knew it was you!” Clint crows from where he overheard Bruce’s request. He points a finger at him accusingly. “ _That’s_ where all my Nutella was disappearing to. I _knew_ it.”

Bruce looks sheepish, but doesn’t deny it. “I had help,” he protests.

Natasha elbows Clint in the side. “Yeah, from me.” She turns to Nico, ordering in Italian for both her and Clint, it seems. Tony never would have pegged Natasha for liking strawberry.

Tony orders some delicious-looking chocolate flavor before Thor ends up buying out the whole store. Since a cone wouldn’t fit all of Thor’s requests, he’s getting it in a bowl. Well. “Bowl” is a relative term. “Basin” might be more appropriate.

The atmosphere feels… light. It’s doing funny things to Tony’s heart. He looks around, at Steve eating his peanut butter ice cream, Bruce and his Nutella, Thor stuffing his face with the basin of ice cream flavors, Clint and Natasha stealing bites of each other’s flavors, and thinks— _family_.

The only way it could be better would be if Loki were there. For real, not as a disguise or part of a plot.

But that’s long gone now.

Tony and Bruce make small talk, catching up, and Bruce’s eyes are alight as he talks about a new method of medical treatment for children in India that he helped fund.

He notices Steve staring at him and asks, “What?”

“So…” Steve says, turning to him and looking uncomfortable. “You have the—the rocket?”

And just like that, the light atmosphere is gone. “Yeah. It’s outside,” Tony sighs. He stares down at his ice cream. It doesn’t look so appetizing anymore.

The shop is deathly silent now, the rest of the team having overheard Steve’s words. Steve looks around, his expression abashed, and says, “I’m sorry. That was… not the right time.”

“No,” Clint says peculiarly, his face set back into hard lines. “We need to talk. What the hell are we doing?”

“We’re going to save the goddamned world,” Tony says, cutting off Steve, who opens his mouth like he’s going to say something desperate. “Once we get the Tesseract’s signal, we’re hauling ass to that location and shoving it in that missile to send it on its way.”

“Missile,” Clint repeats.

“Rockets are too heavy. Too bulky,” Tony mutters defensively.

Thor interjects before Natasha can kill Tony with her eyes. “If Tony cannot put the Tesseract in the missile, or if it does not function correctly, I will fly it to a safe distance.”

“You’ll be blown up,” Clint says incredulously. “Ka-blam. That’s _not_ a good plan.”

Thor looks weighted down. There’s a smear of toffee ice cream on his chin. “Aye. Yet… the merits of a failsafe should not be underestimated.” He looks at Tony.

Tony stares at him, feeling as though he’s just been struck in the chest. “Right,” he says faintly.

Silence reigns in the shop, Nico making as little noise as possible, his gaze skittering away when Tony meets his eyes.

“What’s the status on Fury and the Council?” Steve asks.

Natasha looks wary. “I was able to convince them to keep a leash on it. They’re not going to release the nuke unless they thinks we can’t handle it.”

“So basically, ‘if necessary,’” Clint says darkly. “It’s going to be ‘necessary’ the moment they locate it.” Natasha looks at him helplessly.

No one has anything to say to that. Slowly, conversation starts up again, but it’s lacking the carefree air that filled the shop before. Natasha and Clint are eating their own respective ice creams, their heads bent close. Nico moves over to them and they talk quietly together. Tony props his head up on his fist and picks at his ice cream.

Three hours pass by at glacial pace. They all finish their ice cream relatively quickly, though Thor takes relatively longer. After the distraction of cool dessert has vanished all that’s left to do is wait.

It’s torture.

Bruce sits in his seat, eyes closed—probably meditating. Thor is staring at Mjolnir, but not really seeing it, his forehead furrowed over dark and pensive eyes. Clint and Natasha abandoned their previous conversation to do a thorough “weapons check-up” and are dumping all of their various knives and guns onto the bar to give them a final cleaning. Tony doesn’t have anything to do—his suit is ready to go—and so he tries to distract himself by designing objects in his head.

It’s not working. Ants crawl under his skin and he can’t stop shifting anxiously. A swarm of moths seems to have sprung up in his stomach, making him feel ill. This was always the worst part of battle.

Steve looks pale, but his face is hard as stone.

Nico comes up to them, seeming to have found his resolve. “I wish to say thank you,” he says in flawless English. His voice has the barest tinge of an accent. He turns steady brown eyes on Steve. “You saved my daughter last year. She was in Grand Central Station. Whatever… whatever happens today,” he says, looking back at Clint, and Tony _knows_ that he’s realized something big is going down. “You have earned my respect. I am honored to stand here in front of you.”

Steve looks up at him, and the tight expression he’s been wearing in the corners of his eyes all day fades slightly. “No,” he says strongly. “No. It’s just my job. I thank _you_ , for your hospitality today.”

“Sì,” Tony murmurs, smiling at Niccolo’s startled expression. “Grazie. Grazie per averci accolto.” _Thank you for welcoming us._

“Didn’t know you spoke Italian, Tony,” Steve says, a little hoarsely. His eyes are bright, though, and there’s something resembling hope in his face. Tony looks at the rest of the team and realizes that they, too, are finding their strength, pulling the together the broken pieces that make up their souls and binding them together one last time.

“My mother,” Tony says, his throat tightening. “She was. Italian, that is.”

Steve nods, and turns to face the rest of them. Nico’s words seem to have opened something in him, and he stands strong and tall and unashamed. “I don’t need to tell you what’s on the line today,” he says, meeting each of their eyes. “But we just gotta stick to the plan, and do what’s right. _I_ am honored,” he says, glancing in Nico’s direction, “To be fighting alongside all of you. To the end.”

“Amen,” Tony says, and hits the table lightly with his fist. _Ready._

“Amen,” the team echoes, somber in the slow dark. _Aim._

The device in Bruce’s pockets beeps and Tony’s faceplate flips down, his HUD exploding with warnings.

_Fire._


	28. Chapter 28

Tony vaguely registers Steve’s voice, raised but still in control, calling out orders. Natasha and Clint move quick as lightning out the door and to the jet, Bruce doing the same while calmly calling out the coordinates.   
He glances quickly at the numerous windows open on his own display, and bites back a curse. The Statue of fucking Liberty. Why isn’t he surprised?

And—oh, shit, oh shit—he can’t believe he didn’t think of this before—

He’s such an idiot. If SHIELD never gets the signal, they’ll never know where to nuke.

“Jarvis, block that signal from SHIELD’s files. Give access to Fury but no one else, understand? The Council _cannot_ know where it is.”

_“My pleasure, sir.”_

Grabbing tightly onto Thor’s arm, Tony drags him outside and practically shoves the missile at him. “Statue of Liberty,” he yells over the whirring of the quinjet. He fires up his repulsors and hovers a few feet off the ground. “Follow me.”

As soon as Thor nods, Tony twists in the air and zips upwards, narrowly missing the roof of a nearby building. The quinjet roars into flight behind him, accompanied by Thor’s crackling lightning. He shoots up high enough to miss the lower buildings and occasionally weaving in and out of taller ones.

His flight path is outlined in red on the blue 3D map in the right corner of his display, a timer counting down in the other. Nine minutes, eleven seconds left.

The sky is still too dark to see properly, so Tony has Jarvis overlay his vision with faint blue guidelines. Orange light pools like syrup onto the black asphalt far below him. The office buildings that he flies around are dotted with smeary windows of brightness, evidence of someone working late into the night. New York isn’t ever quiet, not really, but up here in the sky everything is muffled but for the howling of the wind as Tony pushes the suit as fast as it can.

This rush, this feeling of being suspended by naught but air—this pure freedom of choice—this is why he flies, and why he falls.

Tony dodges a building, spinning left, and the illuminated Statue of Liberty invades his vision, far across the water. The land below ends abruptly, giving way to water that shines with the light of the city. Looking down, he can see a shattered reflection of himself, a brilliant red-and-gold smudge against the dark water.

“We’re close,” Bruce says unnecessarily through the comm link. He pauses a second, before adding, “The Tesseract should be either on top of the Statue or inside it, I can’t tell from this scan.”

Tony checks out his own scan before sighing. “I can’t either. Watch out for the ‘guard’ Loki mentioned. If the Tesseract got through, then they—whatever they are—got through too.”  
“You heard the man,” Steve says commandingly.

Seven minutes, 43 seconds left. Tony grinds his teeth together, willing the suit to go faster. Their ETA is still one minute.

He switches his comm line on mute so he can talk to Jarvis. “Jarv, do a thermal scan of the Statue.”

Jarvis beeps in response and Tony’s vision is overlaid with colors ranging from blue to red and orange. For the most part, the statue and the area around it is a dark blue—it’s fucking six in the morning, so no tourists are able to get by yet.

A strange blob of color catches Tony’s eye. At the very top of the statue, right on the top behind the pointed crown, there’s a singular speck of blazing white. It’s cold, then. Very cold. While Tony maybe would have thought the Tesseract would be in the yellows and oranges, apparently the material is freezing. Beyond freezing.

“Top of the head, guys,” Tony says, switching the comm back on. He keeps his eyes trained on the speck, but has Jarvis turn off thermal vision. “That’s where the Tesseract is.”

“Location acknowledged,” Clint says shortly. “But we can’t land up there. We’ll have to meet you guys. I'll land at the base.”

“Gotcha,” Tony says. He feels a strange nagging and wishes they would be able to get up to the top. Six minutes, fourteen seconds.

They reach the statue and split, Tony motioning for Thor to follow him to the head and Clint breaking off to touch the jet down at the base. There’s no motion. Not even the slightest flicker of wind stirs the grass or whistles through the still air. Everything is deathly silent, and even this far away, they should be able to hear _something_ of Manhattan.

The strange feeling in his stomach grows into full-blown uneasiness. Loki said there would be a guard.

Unless he was lying about that, too, but this is easy. Too easy.

Tony reaches the curving edge of the head first. The Tesseract is glowing faintly blue in the darkness, set into a strange, curling cage of obsidian-black material. Whatever it is, it’s keeping the Tesseract from dissolving a hole in the statue and falling through.

He’s about to land. Thor is at his shoulder, the missile in one hand, Mjolnir in the other, surrounded by an aura of electricity. Tony hovers over the top—

And that’s when it all gets shot to hell.

Tony and Thor are blasted backwards by an invisible force, tumbling through the air. His HUD lights up furiously and blares warnings at him in bright red. His teammates shouting over the comm link, but his ears are ringing too loudly to be of use.

He throws his hands backwards, firing out a burst of pressure to balance himself out. The momentum nearly tips him forwards, but he manages to get control of the suit to survey what’s going on.

Eight ivory-colored masses have emerged out of nowhere, encircling the head of the statue, before they split up—three coming towards Tony and Thor, five heading down to the base. They look as though they’re made of pure white sand that shifts and dissolves endlessly.

And their faces… Tony can’t describe them. They move, constantly changing, a shift between a horse and a tiger and something resembling a Chitauri. They never stay the same for more than a few seconds. And when they huff silent breaths from their nostrils, black smoke—the Nathgir—pours out to writhe like serpents in the air.

Thor swears, long and loud, in a language Tony doesn’t recognize. The creatures are approaching slowly, cantering through the air with slow, predatory grace. Glistening sand sloughs off their backs to cascade to the ground like diamond rain.

“Thor, buddy, tell me what we’re up against,” Tony says desperately.

“These creatures should not be able to exist,” Thor growls, his eyes burning with the strength of a thunderstorm. “The Nathgir cannot be contained inside anything even remotely alive. Whatever they are, these creatures are ones of death.”

“They are the Oriddarith,” A familiar voice says in the comm line. Tony’s traitorous, traitorous heart leaps in his chest and he clamps it down quickly in shock.

_Loki_.

He continues on as if he hadn’t betrayed them all and left them for dead. “Long dead creatures that once roamed the nine realms in the ages of darkness. They cannot be killed.”

“Loki,” Clint snarls. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Natasha says cuttingly. “What matters is if he’s _on our side_.”

There’s a pause on the comm line. “I had a… revelation,” Loki says eventually. “Do not fear; I have no love for Thanos. My skills rest with you.”

“Brother,” Thor says tightly. He keeps his eyes on the approaching Oriddarith. “You must realize we cannot trust you.”

“Obviously,” Loki says curtly. “Rest assured, without me you will not win this battle.”

“Jarvis, give me a scan,” Tony hisses. He’s searching everywhere for Loki, but with the Statue’s illuminating spotlight and the pale grey light emitting from the Oriddarith, he can’t spot him. “Where the fuck is he?”

_“Sir, Loki is currently located at the base in close proximity to the other Avengers.”_ So Loki’s having his conversation face to face with them.

“Tony,” Thor says warningly, starting to swing his hammer in ever-faster arcs. The Oriddarith are only 20 feet away and approaching fast.

“I don’t give a damn about any of this,” Tony says sharply over the comms. Bluffing. He’s bluffing. Loki’s mere presence is attracting him like a magnet, his voice a soothing balm over the aching wound in Tony’s chest.

Of course, that’s just going to hurt all the more when Loki turns out to be working for Thanos.

“We need to know how to kill these guys,” Tony says, when nobody responds.

“They _cannot be killed_ ,” Loki hisses in desperation. “You can only stave them off. Their form will not bow to mere force—if you cut through them, they will fall, but only for a few seconds until they reform again.”

Well, shit. Tony clenches his teeth together in a sort of horrified anticipation. He could try his repulsors, but…

“The farther you separate the parts of their form, the longer it takes for them to come back,” Loki explains hurriedly. “If you touch them, you will die. Very painfully. I would recommend avoiding close contact.”

“Well, that’s gonna be a problem, because they’re _right here_ ,” Tony says agitatedly. The Oriddarith are coming forward at a deceptively fast pace, silent as falling snow. The world feels as though it’s holding its breath in the cool morning air.

And then, the tranquility of the moment teetering on a knife-edge, Thor strikes the closest creature with a blast of lightning to rival the force of a hurricane from the suddenly dark clouds overhead.

The crystal form of the Oriddarith is blown apart, grains of sand scattering in a shockwave through the air, revealing a mass of the Nathgir where its belly used to be that curls upward with a roar. The landscape is suddenly thrown into chaos.

Tony can hear the rest of the team at the base fighting furiously, Steve slashing through the Oriddarith with his shield and Natasha with her twin pistols. Clint is firing explosive arrows that send tremors through the air. The roar of the Hulk joins the fray—though it’s muffled, as the comm is in his pocket and not his ear— and although he seems more resistant to the Nathgir, he’s having trouble trying to land a hit on the Oriddarith. Everywhere, smoke is pouring from the husks of the Oriddarith and twining through the air in a deadly dance.

Tony blasts one of the approaching ones with both repulsors, swearing when it creates a hole that is quickly filled in. The one Thor smote with lightning is slowly coming back together, sand inching backwards into a central mass. He sends a missile at the mass and dodges the explosion of the Nathgir that follows.

From the corner of his eye, where he has Jarvis monitoring the base, he can see Loki’s form bleeding into a deep, sapphire blue on one side of his body. The other half remains flesh-toned. On the Jotun half, his arm is suddenly encased in a huge, razor-sharp spike of ice, the other hand is engulfed in green fire. Loki spins to meet an oncoming Oriddarith, ice creeping upits sandy form where he touches it with his left hand. The other hand he plunges into the now-frozen creature to explode it into flames.

In Norse mythology, they called Loki the fire god, Tony remembers dazedly. He can see why now.

“Left,” Thor shouts at him, and Tony pulls his gaze away from the small screen monitoring Loki and spins to the right, narrowly dodging a winding trail of sand heading back towards a reforming Oriddarith. It grazes his shoulder plate and burns away a sliver of metal.

_“Sir,”_ Jarvis says, a note of warning in his voice. _“You have five minutes left.”_

“Fuck,” Tony says loudly. “Thor!” He calls, searching for him amid the haze of lightning and white sand. The sun is peeking up slightly over the blurry horizon, a tiny curve of red spreading its light over the murky water.

Tony hears Thor make an answering noise before grunting in surprise. There’s a loud whooshing noise and the other Oriddarith’s head sprays in all directions. The rest of the teamis calling out different instructions over their shared comm line, though Loki stays silent.

“We need to get the missile to the Tesseract!” Tony yells over the howling Nathgir. The first Oriddarith has reformed and is moving much faster now, an ivory wave intent on swallowing its victims. “Go around, I’ll hold off this one!” He gestures towards the Oriddarith and sees Thor nod in acknowledgement before dropping suddenly to reach the head of the statue beneath it, dodging the hand holding the torch. Tony steels himself and uses both hand repulsors to carve away at the Oriddarith slowly. Sand falls downwards in clumps that glow blood red in the light of the rising sun.

The Oriddarith turns blank, pupil-less eyes towards him, sand shifting its face into ever changing shapes. Tony swallows and decides to take his chances, zipping past it and using his hand-mounted laser beam to cut off its legs.

“Coming up behind you,” Tony says to where Thor has landed on the head. He’s still clutching the missile in one hand, his face sweaty with exertion. “Hand me the missile and I’ll see if I can get this fucker in.”

Thor is reaching out to pass him the cable that the missile is attached to—and—and—

_This_ is when it all goes to hell.

One of the Oriddarith—the one that was still reforming from where Tony cut off its legs—roars into Thor with the force of a tidal wave and engulfs both him and the missile.

Tony is yelling and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, his voice going hoarse, and the rest of the team are screaming at him, demanding to know what just happened. Loki appears next to him suddenly on the rooftop, wrath in his eyes and energy crackling around his hands as he holds out a restraining arm to stop Tony from firing a missile at the fucking monster that just swallowed his teammate.

“Cover me,” he says lowly, his voice bubbling with anger, and Tony can only nod dazedly. Thor—the missile—they have four minutes left.

Loki holds out his hands and the air starts getting sucked towards him, Tony buffeted by the wind of it. The remaining two Oriddarith are prowling in the air around the statue’s head and he keeps a repulsor trained on each.

Loki’s hands are glowing, pure white now, and his Jotun skin has vanished back into his pale Aesir tone. Tony fires few warning shots towards the edge of the crown on the statue’s head, just as Loki steps forwards and sinks his hands into the whirling body of the Oriddarith in front of him.

Tony stares in disbelief as the Oriddarith goes fucking _nuclear_ underneath Loki’s hands, detonating in a shockwave of white sand that Tony ducks under. He’s still blown back by the force of it, though, and when he blinks blurrily—blood is running into his face—there’s a large blackened circle, like a cigarette burn, in the middle of the statue’s head.

There’s none of the Nathgir where the Oriddarith used to be, and Tony thinks that maybe Loki has been holding out on them. The other Oriddarith scream suddenly, a wretched wailing of the dishonored that leaks in through his helmet and makes him clutch his ears. Tony shoots off a missile blindly and the resulting explosion clears his hearing.

Thor is lying prone on the cold metal of the statue, his skin charred and an angry, blistering red. The only part of him that is undamaged is Mjolnir, which is lying next to him, smoking slightly.

Tony looks over to Loki, sees the sweat that’s beading on his pale face, and wonders how much that took out of him.

“What the hell is going on?” Steve yells.

“Oriddarith attacked Thor,” Tony says shortly, his brain still slightly short-circuited. “Loki took care of it—“

The other Oriddarith slink forward, tendrils of sand reaching out like tentacles, still wailing that horrible scream, and Tony spins left furiously. He hears Natasha call out about an incoming Oriddarith and a third comes up to join them from where the rest of the team is fighting at the base.

Tony looks frantically back towards Thor’s unconscious form, searching for the missile. His stomach drops when he realizes a twisted bunch of metal he had originally dismissed is scanned and turns out to be—surprise—the missile. Fuck. They’re screwed, and they only have two minutes and 33 seconds left.

“The missile’s destroyed,” Tony rasps, and coughs to clear his throat. “Loki—“

He turns around to ask Loki about teleporting or magical rainbows or something, but he’s… gone.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Tony swears. His breath is getting faster and he’s starting to hyperventilate, and he takes a deep breath to try and calm himself. Someone is asking what’s going on—Clint, he thinks, and he clenches his teeth together.

“Loki’s gone,” he manages to get out, and the comm line falls silent.

“Shit,” Clint says, finally, in resigned anger. “Guess we can’t count on him for anything, can we? Even after he came back he must’ve seen the missile and run for the hills.”

Tony checks the time shakily. Two minutes left. He blocks out Clint’s words from his mind, ignoring the tightness in his chest. The sun is rising slowly in the distance as a hemisphere of red above the horizon and the light plays across the water like spilled blood.

Now that Loki is gone, Tony feels naked and vulnerable on the ridges surface of the statue, the three Oriddarith cantering around him. They’re moving slowly, with the leisurely pace of having trapped an easy target. It’s quiet. With Loki’s departure, the ungodly screaming has stopped.

He squeezes his eyes shut before blinking them open, trying to clear the blood running into his eyes. He’s rooted onto the surface of the statue, his feet feeling as though they’re encased in cement, and he clamps his jaw shut to breathe raggedly through his nose.

“Is this it, then?” Steve asks, and Tony can hear Clint and Natasha inhale sharply. “Is there—“

“Shut up,” Tony growls. His mind is moving impossibly fast now, hurtling through probabilities and scenarios like a train bound for destruction. There’s something, he _knows_ there is, he just needs to figure it out before the minute and 24 seconds is up.

What is it? When he was looking through possibilities on stopping the Tesseract, the only metal he thought would be able to absorb the energy was vibranium. Impossible. The only vibranium in existence is Steve’s shield and Tony’s triangle in his arc reactor. Next is uru, but he can’t lift Thor’s hammer while he’s unconscious—

Wait.

_Steve’s shield and Tony’s arc reactor_.

The shield would only protect one side of the Tesseract, and the rest would explode all over the place. But if he used the vibranium from his chest…

Well, he would probably die, but if it _worked_ , then—

“Steve, give me your fucking shield,” Tony snarls, blasting into the air and shooting through a gap between two Oriddarith. He turns so that he’s belly up and fires two shots behind him that cut through the sand, slowing the two Oriddarith down long enough for him to turn around again. He streaks down the side of the statue to reach the star-shaped base, where Clint, Natasha, Steve, and the Hulk have formed a square to fight back-to-back.

“Tony, what—“

“Just—“ Tony says through gritted teeth, cutting him off. He blinks again to clear his vision. One minute left. “Trust me.”

He flips in midair so he lands feet-first in the middle of their square, and Steve turns to him with the shield clutched in both hands. The others turn to him, eyes wide and knuckles white, and the air is so quiet that he can hear them breathing lightly over the comm line. The four Oriddarith on the ground are motionless, silent white sentinels, sand flowing and rippling in the air in a manner that reminds him of manes or tails or fur.

Steve offers the shield to him, a grim expression on his face.

Tony takes it.

“Thanks,” he says, looking at the team for a long moment. Drinking in their images like a drowning man. “Look—just—come and get me as soon as you can.”

“Tony—“ Steve begins, but Tony’s already gone.  
He’s flying, flying straight up into the indigo sky that’s slowly bleeding into rosy dawn. The last stars are holding onto light tenaciously, gently winking out as the sunrise touches them, and Tony thinks that it’s not a bad last sight.

Dimly, he registers the whirring of the quinjet in the background, the team struggling to hold off the Oriddarith long enough to board it.

30 seconds. Tony pushes the suit as fast as it can go, cresting the top of the statue, and shoots over to where the Tesseract is still present in its tangled black cage. It’s glowing more brightly now, a cold but burning blue, and the light is leaking out from the cage to stain the air around it.

Tony bangs the shield down and it rings like a bell in the quiet. He maneuvers the Tesseract into it carefully, sweat beading on his forehead. Ten seconds.

He smashes both layers of glass that cover the arc reactor, breath catching in his throat as shards fall to the metal of the statue like rain, making tiny tinkling noises as they catch the light of the sunrise. He yanks the triangle of glowing vibranium from his chest as delicately as he can, pinching it between two fingers.

Seven seconds. He tries to balance it on the top of the cube, but to no avail. The top of the cage curls up into a spire and the triangle slips down to land in the shield. His breath is coming in pants now and sweat is running into his eyes.

Three. Tony swears and picks up the triangle again before placing it into the palm of his hand. It won’t fucking _stay_ —

Two.

He slams his hand down—

One.


	29. Chapter 29

Tony is burning.

It’s all he can process right now. His hand is consumed with fire, a blistering force so cold it’s hot. He wants to pull away his hand, but when he moves it, it only increases the pain. His vision is blurry with tears and sweat that stings his eyes.

Someone is howling, a horrible, drawn out shriek, and Tony realizes it’s himself.

He blinks sluggishly and catches a glimpse of the scene in front of him, staring with disbelief before he has to blink his eyes shut again. By now, his hand has gone numb with pain, occasional arcs of fire flashing through it.

The Tesseract is glowing, a brightness so powerful it makes Loki’s destruction of the Oriddarith look like a light show. Tony squeezes his eyes shut, but he can still see the afterimage burned into his eyelids. The shield underneath the Tesseract is absorbing the light, a dark silhouette amidst the icy blue, and then—and—

Where Tony’s hand is pressing the triangle of vibranium to the Tesseract, where his bones and skin are practically melting into the metal of his gauntlet, a singular beam of blue is shooting straight up into the sky until it disappears into the pinkish dawn.

Somewhere, in between the haze of pain and his slowly numbing mind, he thinks dazedly that it _worked_. The energized vibranium triangle is drawing the Tesseract’s explosive force into it to force the energy into a focused beam.

A beam that’s going right through his hand.

Shit. He needs to get out of there before his arm burns off, Tony realizes numbly.

Best to get it done quick, like ripping off a band-aid. He pushes away the fact that this is absolutely nothing like ripping off a band-aid. He screws his face up and _yanks_ his hand toward him.

Another scream beats against his lips before the sound is cut off by the bile rising in his throat. He chokes, retching, dropping from his kneeling position to land squarely on his ass. He pointedly doesn’t look at his hand.

There are muffled voices that slowly come into focus in his ear, but it’s hard to tell when he keeps blanking out. Each blink seems to last at least a minute, and he can feel his breath coming in short pants. Oh. Right. He _took out_ the one thing preventing his death.

Tony can’t even muster the energy to be angry about it.

Suddenly, the Tesseract shuts down, going completely dark before cracks lace their way through it to split it into shards of glassy-looking material. Far, far up into the sky, where the blue beam disappeared to, a noise like a thunderclap rings through the air and blue light explodes in a magnificent arc that follows the curve of the earth. It looks like a giant force field, or a bubble, or something else equally fantastical and amazing.

Tony drinks in the sight before realizing that means that he can reach his vibranium triangle now that the Tesseract has stopped emitting energy, but he can’t move. His blood feels like liquid lead running through his veins and his breathing is growing more ragged with each inhale and exhale he takes. Sharp pains stab into his chest and arc through his whole body.

A whirring sound filters into his ears and he realizes dully it’s the quinjet. Well. They’re a little late.

Someone is standing over him—no, three people are standing over him, and he can see exactly when they notice his hand—they all inhale sharply and wince. Which. He hasn’t really noticed the hand himself, yet.

“Tony? Tony, goddammit, keep your eyes open,” Natasha growls, and oh. His faceplate is gone and he’s been tipped over to lie on his back. When did that happen?

He can see Steve’s and Bruce’s faces swimming blurrily in the background. Clint must be piloting the jet.

“H—heart,” he mumbles jaggedly up to Natasha, willing her to understand. Her curls are blindingly red in the sunrise.

Her eyes widen and her gaze drops down to his chest. “Bruce,” she calls, warningly. “What the hell did you do to yourself?” She mutters, turning her eyes back to him.

Tony sighs in response, his eyes dropping closed again. Steve apparently doesn’t like this, as he hits Tony’s helmet pretty hard. The ringing makes his head spin and he groans, but opens his eyes.

Bruce is doing something busily behind Steve, but Tony can’t see what it is. It looks important, though. Probably. He’s wearing those god-awful stretch pants that Tony made him, that are ugly as fuck and look like leggings but work amazingly well. He notices absentmindedly that all three of them are covered in white sand and that it _doesn’t_ seem to be burning the flesh off their bones.

“Here, here,” Bruce says breathlessly. He’s pinching—oh. The triangle of vibranium. “Tony, you crazy bastard, that was a stupid plan,” Bruce mumbles as he shoves the triangle back into place.

Tony exhales slowly and coughs, untainted air filling his lungs. The taste of coconut permeates his mouth, metal-tinged and familiar, and he blinks his eyes shut.

“Tony? You with me?” That’s Bruce, trying to see if he put the vibranium in right—as if he hadn’t already memorized the arc reactor’s specs when Tony first shared them with him a few months after New York.

He opens his eyes and focuses his gaze on Bruce. Bruce’s expression drops, then, and he says quietly, ”Tony, your hand…”

Tony shakes his head, cutting him off. “I don’t—“ His voice is too hoarse from his screaming earlier, when fire invaded his flesh. He tries again. “Just—wait.”

He doesn’t mention how he already tried to flex his fingers, roll his wrist, and couldn’t. He doesn’t feel anything. Just numb, empty blankness starting at his wrist and ending… he doesn’t know where. His faceplate is gone, so he can’t run any scans, and honestly, he’s not sure he wants to.

When he takes stock of his surroundings again, he realizes his arms are draped over Steve’s broad shoulders and Bruce’s slightly smaller ones. The two of them are manhandling him to the quinjet that hovers at the edge of the statue. Steve has his shield in one hand, and although the straps on the back have been completely burned away, it otherwise looks undamaged.

They haul him into the jet, Steve going in first and steadying Tony when he stumbles in through the open side panel. Natasha drags Thor behind her in a way that can’t be good for his burned skin and Bruce enters after her. Clint cranes his head around from the pilot’s seat, shoving his headphones down to hang around his neck.

“What—“ he begins, and then his gaze drops to Tony’s mangled hand and Thor’s burned skin. He inhales, a sharp hiss of breath drawn through teeth. “Never mind. Hospital sound good?”

Tony hears Steve make a noise of affirmation. The white sand dusting their hair and shoulders is covering Clint, too, and he wonders what happened to the Oriddarith. Their “life-force” must have been connected to the Tesseract.

He sits down heavily into one of the seats that line the inside of the jet. The movement jostles his hand and although the hand itself isn’t exactly in pain, his wrist hurts like a bitch. He clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches and decides against trying to strap himself in.

Clint presses the button to close the open side door and puts his headphones on, though he leaves it so one ear is uncovered to hear the conversation inside the jet. The jet rotates slowly to face Manhattan, the light of the rising sun hitting the right side of the jet and streaming in through the windows.

They’re about to take off for the mansion or the hospital or wherever, Clint pulling back the throttle and checking all the necessary buttons and dials, when something crashes into the tail of the quinjet. It knocks them off balance and out of the air, the jet spinning around before Clint manages to get it under control.

Natasha shoves Tony’s faceplate at him—which, handy, he hadn’t known she’d grabbed that—before she climbs into the seat next to Clint to co-pilot. Tony clumsily holds the faceplate up to his eyes with his good hand. “Jarvis, what was that?”

The HUD lights up—thank God—which means that the wireless chip must be working. Jarvis answers by pulling up a scan of the surrounding area and Tony directs him to where the projected trajectory says the object should have landed.

Clint shouts back at them that they’re going to have to land because whatever it was took out one of their two main turbines in the back. Tony tunes him out, instead focusing on the scans Jarvis is drawing up for him.

The object that hit the jet looks… human. Or at least, human-shaped.

Tony plucks the first-aid kit from Steve’s hands, and pries off a wrist panel on his suit to give himself an injection for local anesthetic for his wrist. His hand is still numb and the entire gauntlet covering his hand looks melted and deformed. The red and gold paint has blackened, as though he dipped his hand in soot.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bruce asks. He looks a bit comical, dressed in stretch pants and no shirt, an irritated expression on his face and sand covering his shoulders and settled into his hair. Bruce reaches out to grab the syringe from him, but it’s too late.

“What—whatever crashed into the quinjet looks like a person,” Tony explains, only stumbling over his words a little bit. Now that the vibranium is back in his chest his thoughts are clearer, his breathing less labored.

Clint touches the quinjet down on the star-shaped base of the Statue, skidding the underbelly of the plane slightly on the smooth stone before he straightens it out. He opens the side door, because smoke is starting to leak into the cabin, and they all climb out quickly, Steve hauling Thor over his shoulders and grunting at his weight. Behind them, the back of the jet is vomiting black smoke into the pink sky. A small explosion makes a popping noise and a mini fireball flares into being before subduing itself.

“There goes our ride home,” Clint says dejectedly.

Tony hears him only vaguely, too busy following Jarvis’ directions to reach the man-thing that crashed into their plane. He probably looks like a bumbling idiot, his good hand holding the mask up to his face and running awkwardly in the suit because his stability isn’t the best when he doesn’t have use of either of his hands. The rest of the team is following behind him.

He reaches the spot that the object-person was supposed to land, and… nothing. Just a small crater and a few splotches of blood that look black in the light. They’re on the western side of the statue, where the light of the rising sun can’t reach, and the massive metal sculpture casts a huge shadow that stretches out over the water.

Over the _water_ , where a whirling cloud of black smoke, thicker and more oily than the smoke pouring out of the quinjet, churns and heaves in the nonexistent wind.

As Tony watches, the swirl of motion abruptly stops, and someone is thrown towards them, out of where the cloud used to be, to land solidly on the top of the water. When he squints closer, he realizes that it’s _Loki_.

“What the fuck—“ Clint mutters, his sharp eyes already having picked out Loki’s familiar form.

Loki struggles to his feet, standing defiantly _on the fucking water_ , his legs braced. He’s a scant few yards away from them now, having skidded after being blown backwards, and he glances back at them quickly, a fierce expression on his face. Tony lov—is so glad to see him it’s making his chest weak just looking at him.

“Get away, you imbeciles,” Loki hisses at them, something almost like concern tightening his face. He’s panting, and although his skin doesn’t show wounds easily there are cuts and bruises covering his hands and face. “Run!”

“Plane’s broken,” Clint says, waving offhandedly towards the smoking quinjet, though his muscles are tensed with wariness. “There’s no way to get off the island.”

Darkness colors Loki’s face and he mutters something unsavory. His fists are clenched at his sides, engulfed in emerald flames that whisper and pop in the still morning.

Loki opens his mouth to say something else, but the whirling storm interrupts him, buffeting them all with a strong wind. Bits of debris fly by and Tony covers his face with his mask again. The others don’t get off so easy, and when the wind dies down suddenly their exposed skin is dotted with crimson.

And standing on the water is—is—

Tony has seen his silhouette before; a shadow crouched in the corner of a white hospital room.

_Thanos_.

He is immense, towering over their huddled team, jaw square and nose straight. Tony can see how he is related to the Chitauri in some way, but next to Thanos those mercenaries would look like parasites. The darkness is drawn to him like a cloak, wrapping him up in its folds, and the brilliant sunrise of red and pink and orange is muted down to dull greys and tans with his arrival.

Thanos’ skin is dark purple that seems to reflect no light. By contrast, the fitted gold armor pieces that cover his body shine with an unnatural luster. His irises are a molten gold that gleams even more brightly than his armor, but the whites of his eyes are instead black, cunning and wicked. He is beautiful and terrible all at once and he terrifies Tony more than the blank-eyed Oriddarith or the smoky Nathgir ever could.

When he smiles his teeth are startlingly white, a cruel slash of bone against his dark face.

“Princeling,” he rumbles, and his voice is _the voice_ , the one that’s been taunting Tony since the beginning of all of this. Fire and lightning and bone. His tone is almost conversational as he directs it at Loki. “These are the filth you have chosen to ally yourself with.”

Loki, who is made out of coiled steel and green fire and blue Jotun ice, quakes under Thanos’ golden gaze and does not answer.

Thanos sighs, his breath powerful enough to feel like a breeze in the air that smells like ash. “You always were a disappointment,” he says regretfully, but his eyes are sharp and smirking. “Alas.”

They are still as the huge metal statue behind them. Tony’s feet feel rooted to the ground, because there’s such a _presence_ to Thanos, one that makes Tony feel small and insignificant but is also painfully alluring. Thanos is ancient, more ancient than the earth, and unlike anything Tony has seen before.

Next to him, Loki’s thousand-year-old face looks young, his pale face torn between determination and stone-cold blankness. But behind that blankness is fear that dances in his eyes like the flames engulfing his hands.

Thanos’ gaze flicks to Tony and it’s all he can do not to wilt under the pressure of it. The sour taste of fear floods his mouth like oil. He’s trapped, staring paralyzed back at Thanos, a rabbit frozen in front of car headlights.

“You cannot trust him, Anthony Stark,” Thanos says cuttingly, his voice scraping and his gaze unwavering. “He is the Trickster, and he shall always betray you and your kind in the end.”

They are, all of them, silent.

“Not, of course, that he shall have the chance,” Thanos amends, turning his eyes back to Loki. Tony lets out an involuntary sigh of relief to feel that gaze move on from him. “You, as weak and unfortunate as you are, have thwarted the power of the Tesseract. The sacrifice I promised Death has been saved, a lamb led away from the block.”

His voice rolls across the water to contort the very air, curling into Tony’s ears and leaving him with a cold feeling in his gut. Before, Tony realizes shakily, Thanos had been playing around. Now there is a dark undertone to his voice, a hidden malice in his expression that speaks of the true volume of anger that Thanos is harboring.

“She must be appeased,” Thanos says. His smile is still a bone-white slash against his dark face. “I think Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and the one who betrayed them would be a pleasant start.”

Tony sees Loki give a near-imperceptible flinch, his fists clenching tighter. The fire around his hands flares up.

Thanos notices, his sharp gaze picking out the movement with little trouble. He huffs a laugh that sounds like crackling fire. “I am merely pointing out the facts, princeling,” he says, blinking his golden eyes wide with innocence. The whites—or perhaps blacks—of his eyes reflect the muted sky like polished obsidian.

His head tilts to the side like a cat as he looks appraisingly at Loki. “Your sacrifice would be… unworthy. Impure of blood and tainted of heart—yet a death nonetheless. I, in particular, will derive great pleasure in killing you.”

Loki’s eyes close, briefly, his expression resigned. He glances over his shoulder at Tony and in his gaze is a desperate warning. Tony starts forward, against his own will, but something wraps around his foot and anchors him to the ground.

“I think not,” Thanos says, eyes trained on Tony’s outstretched arm, the one holding his faceplate. He contemplates something briefly before he holds out one massive, gauntleted purple hand in front of him and clenches it into a fist.

Immediately, a thunderclap of cold air resonates from his clenched hand, hitting Tony in the face and making him choke on the thickness of it. The rest of the team makes startled noises and grunts of pain as something twists around their ankles and creeps up their legs to pin their arms to their sides. Thor’s head lolls freely, his eyes blinking sluggishly, as Steve is overtaken and the curling lengths take over in supporting his body.

Tony stifles a yelp of surprise as the tangling vines smash his arms flush with his sides, the faceplate clattering to the ground. Sharp stabs of pain lance through his wrist and he flinches.

When he squints closer at the things wrapping his teammates up, immobile up to their necks, it looks just like… darkness.

Oh, they were stupid, utterly foolish, to come back here behind the sun. Thanos’ realm is in the gloom and lightless places. With the Statue of Liberty shielding them from their one saving grace, they are drowned in shadow that slinks out from cracks and crevices to render them helpless.

Loki is watching them in horror, his mouth slightly open in a silent gasp. A curling tentacle of shadow plays along his jawline before wrenching Loki’s head back to stare at Thanos. No light reflects off the solid water where their armored feet are planted.

“We shall make this enjoyable,” Thanos says, his eyes gleaming in the nonexistent light. “Single combat is fair, is it not? You always hated anything fair.”

Loki’s pale skin is shockingly bright in the growing darkness. Even though a few moments ago it was sunrise, now the sky is dark as midnight. The bright green flames surrounding his hands shine a ghostly green light that flickers across his face.

“I will not bow to you,” Loki says, his voice steady but almost mournful. Tony is reminded of again of honey-smoothness, liquid and soothing, such a contrast to Thanos’ scraping voice.

But Thanos’ smile only widens, curving against his face like a crescent moon, his golden eyes burning and surging with power. “You did once. And you shall do so again.”

Loki blasts a tidal wave of green fire at him that roars across the solid water with magic. Tony is helpless, unable to even cry out, a shadowy vine covering his mouth and absorbing any sound he makes.

Thanos brings his clenched fists together and then draws them apart, the space in between them filling with some kind of golden rod. He draws it out completely to reveal it to be a plain and undecorated staff. But as Tony watches, Thanos brings it down on the watery ground and it crackles with golden lightning that fizzles the wave in its tracks.

Even the fire around Loki’s hands is extinguished. Tony struggles helplessly against his bonds, but it only causes the darkness to tighten its hold around him, the metal of his suit creaking ominously.

Thanos retaliates before Loki can muster up the power to defend himself, throwing the golden rod javelin-style at him. It transforms into a huge net spun out of thick golden cables, lightning racing along its patterns, and it wraps Loki up in the blink of an eye and pins him to the ground.

Loki’s back arches under the net and he cries out, the crackling energy from the net crawling over his skin and seeming to electrify him. He writhes underneath it, and now the whole team is yelling, muffled and incomprehensible messages through the darkness in their mouths.

Thanos simply watches, his golden eyes glowing brighter than the net Loki is trapped under, his expression made out of carved marble. Impassive.

Loki stops struggling under the neck, his chest heaving wildly and his face drenched with sweat. Trembles occasionally shake his body, but for the most part he is still, seeming to concentrate. He presses both palms against the surface of the solid water.

“This water will not bow to you, princeling,” Thanos growls, the sound grating in Tony’s ears and making his teeth ache. A glint of white teeth shows against his face, sharp and wicked. “It is not _alive_.”

Loki snarls wordlessly, the skin on his hands bleeding into blue and becoming encased with ice. He grabs ahold of the net with both hands, flinching at the electricity that transfers eagerly from it. Frost creeps out from where his hands have clenched the golden cables, turning the net a milky white. Loki lifts it off him and tosses it away, where it skids on the water in a stiff mold.

Thanos looks at him in contemplation. “Not bad, Jotun,” Thanos says, the words biting.

But Loki only rolls his shoulders as he stands up and turns blood-red eyes on him. “I am not your plaything any longer,” he hisses, shifting his weight from foot to foot in anticipation. The two of them are treading carefully now in a dance of attack and counter-attack.

“All creatures are my playthings,” Thanos says, his words grating on the ears like shrieking metal. “And the nine realms are my playground. I am in every shadow, every crack and crevice, every spot where the light dares not enter. I _own_ the darkness.”

He opens his fist and a winding trail of shadow emerges, twisting through the air to wrap around Loki’s throat and bind him like Tony’s team is bound behind him. Loki manages to get one arm out and his hand bursts into flame with a whooshing sound. He bares his teeth in anger and smashes through the tentacle with a fiery fist, the darkness dispersing at its touch.

Thanos steps forwards, the frozen net now clasped in his hand, dripping and running like wax. The frost burns away from it and the net glows with the same unnatural shine as his armor. Its indefinable shape lengthens, turning wickedly sharp, until Thanos is left holding a curved scythe that’s as tall as a lamppost.

He whirls the blade around, a shining arc of gold whipping through the air, and Loki blocks it with an arm encased in ice. He grunts in pain as the blade shears off a chunk.

And just like that, they’re fighting like—well, like gods. They move faster than Tony can keep track of, a whirling dance of green and black versus gold and purple. Loki flicks a dozen thin, needle-sharp knives at Thanos, conjures flames and ice to engulf his hands, spits on the ground and transforms it into a red serpent that attacks Thanos’ ankles.

Yet even with all his power and trickery, Loki can’t match Thanos’ brute strength, especially after being attacked by the crackling net. Thanos’ golden rod morphs from a scythe to an axe to a storm of sharp arrows that have Loki dodging desperately. Darkness winds around his form, encircles his wrists and forearms in twisted bracelets, snatches at Loki’s clothes and curls around his skull.

Tony is yelling nonsense into the gag, a muffled buzzing filling his ears. He can’t look away from Loki and Thanos’ fight—it’s horribly alluring, like watching a car crash—and his suit is screaming all sorts of warnings in his ears from his straining. The darkness only wraps tighter.

Tony can only watch, his heart in his throat and terror in his mouth, as Thanos bears down on Loki with the strength of a hurricane. He rains blows that ring with the sound of thunder against Loki’s slowly weakening shield of ice-green energy.

Suddenly, Loki heaves upward, throwing Thanos off balance. Thanos stumbles backward slightly, a snarl on his lips, and Loki slings a bolt of green light at the still-smoldering wreckage of the quinjet.

The bolt of energy races through the twisted metal structure and it comes to life, bending and folding in on itself to resemble a massive, four-legged beast. A chunk of the wing sticks out of its nose like a horn and it charges at Thanos across the solid water, snorting fire and smoke.

Thanos’ golden staff melts into a massive club that he swings at the creature, sending it skidding across the water with a screech, a dent in deforming its right side. Loki is standing, stock-still, his eyes closed and one hand stretched out towards the Statue of Liberty.

It doesn’t look like he’s doing anything to defend himself, and instead of pressing his advantage in Thanos’ brief distraction, he’s practically _meditating_.

Tony’s shouting at him to move, because Thanos is bearing down on him and his staff has morphed into a serrated dagger that gleams wickedly at its tip. Loki ignores them all, shooting a second bolt of energy from his resting hand that reanimates the wrecked quinjet, which limps toward Thanos with the shrieking sound of metal.

Thanos flicks aside the impeding creature with one hand, grabbing its head and tossing it carelessly to the side. Loki’s face screws up, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set into a dark line. Tendons and veins stand out harshly from his trembling hand.

Thanos comes to a stop right in front of Loki, dwarfing him. Loki’s form is all sharp lines and clean edges, slim shoulders and long fingers. Thanos is massive, created out of bulging muscle that ripples as he walks, and despite his size he carries himself lightly and with predatory grace. Unlike Loki’s self-contained form, he bleeds out at the edges, blending into the shadow and reappearing from it.

He holds the dagger in his hand delicately, like an instrument or a paintbrush. Loki is shaking all over now, his eyes squeezed shut, and the Thanos’ smile curls across his face like poison.

“No resistance?” He asks quietly, a low, lazy purr creeping into his voice. “No fight? I should have known it would end this way, princeling.” Thanos traces the golden dagger tenderly along Loki’s cheekbones, watching him flinch with eyes like burning coins. His expression speaks of hunger.

Suddenly, Thanos’ eyes blaze gold, a flare of something uncontrollable appearing in his face, and he draws a deep cut that follows the line of Loki’s cheekbone, the knife splitting his skin like butter. Loki lets out an unwilling cry, eyes flying open, before he clamps his mouth shut with lips white from strain. His skin shouldn’t have split under a cut like that, but… Tony looks closer and realizes the edges of the cut are burning with golden light. It’s preventing Loki from healing.

Thanos slices another cut deep into Loki’s face, under his cheekbone and parallel to the first. Loki’s face is tight with pain as the golden light eats away at his flesh, ruby droplets of blood rolling down his skin like tears.

There’s an earth-shaking roar from behind Tony, and he twists his head as far as he can manage to see Thor fighting like a wounded animal against his bonds. His face is twisted up with grief and rage. The skin Tony can see is still blistered and red from the Oriddarith’s attack, and Mjolnir lays bound in darkness on the ground.

The gag muffles Thor’s words, but Tony can get the gist. It’s exactly what’s running through his head right now as he strains against the darkness.

Thanos cuts two more wounds into the other side of Loki’s face, mirror images of the first ones. Still, Loki won’t move, instead shutting his expression down firmly, though each time Thanos starts a new wound he makes a small, pained gasp.

Tears and sweat are blurring Tony’s vision. He’s never felt so helpless. A mantra of desperate curses and threats are running through his brain on repeat, yet all he can do is watch as Loki is mutilated by Thanos.

His voice is hoarse from all the yelling he did earlier, but still he shouts on, as if Loki could possibly hear him through the shadow wrapping around his mouth like a muzzle. _Why won’t you do something, you fucking idiot?_ He shouts. Do _something!_

Loki doesn’t move.

Thanos carves a u-shaped arc onto Loki’s forehead, and that’s when Tony realizes he’s carving in Loki’s Jotun marks. The thought makes him sick.

Thanos slices into Loki’s skin without madness and without the clinical coldness of an operation. Instead, he draws designs onto Loki’s face like art. The only way Tony can tell that he’s actually getting enjoyment out of this is through the hunger in his eyes.

He finished Loki’s forehead and moves on to cut two small wounds into his chin, parallel lines that curve up to meet his bottom lip. Blood runs down Loki’s face freely now, painting him with it, staining the collar of his shirt and dripping onto the solid water with the soft plinking of raindrops.

And _still_ Loki does nothing—

There’s a small object flying through the air.

Tony can’t tell what it is, the darkness turning it only into a blurring shape, but it flies to the air silently, heading directly for Loki’s outstretched hand. Thanos looks up too late as Loki catches the thing in his palm and clenches his hand into a fist. Fine black powder leaks from his curled fingers.

Loki unclenches his fingers to reveal a handfulof muted blue shards.

Thanos’ eyes go wide with realization, burning gold on black, his bone-white grin disappearing from his face like smoke. _The Tesseract_.

Loki, blood dripping from his wounds to pour down his face, his bright green eyes shadowed dark with determination, drives the shards deep into Thanos’ golden breastplate to pierce his heart.

His golden eyes betray his surprise, mouth frozen in a snarl of disbelief and anger. The shards glow bright blue from where they splinter out of his chest like needles. And Thanos crumples to the ground, disintegrating into white ash that is whirled away by a smoky breeze.

The darkness dissipates, warm sunlight breaking out into the now-blue sky. Their bonds dissolve into the air and Tony stumbles forward to regain his balance, choking in a breath that isn’t gagged by shadow.

Loki turns to face them, his eyes wide and broken, the fire around his hands long extinguished. He walks shakily on a path of solid water, the rest having turned back into gently lapping waves, until he reaches the shore.

Tony takes off his helmet, dropping it to land on the ground with his faceplate, and breathes, watching Loki approach them. Loki wipes his face off with his sleeve with a wince. He stops for a brief second, touching two fingers to his own forehead, and the deep slices start to knit closed without Thanos’ venomous golden light to stop them.

“We—” Steve says faintly, before closing his mouth with a snap. He’s standing with slightly shaky feet on the stone base of the Statue. It echoes what he said after the Chitauri battle, with _we won_ , but maybe Steve is realizing they didn’t have as clean of a win as last time.

Loki comes to a stop in front of them, looking weary. The blood he missed streaks his face and neck like warpaint.

Thor rushes over to grab his brother in a crushing hug that draws a sharp inhale of breath from Loki. Thor pulls back, grasping Loki by his shoulders, a grin made of daylight beaming from his face. Loki looks confused and also suspicious; as if he’s concerned Thor is mocking him.

“Brother,” Thor says solemnly, heedless of his blistered skin and his blue eyes fierce with love, “Thank you.”

He steps back, then, and now they’re all looking at Tony. Bruce and Clint and Natasha and Steve and Thor all staring at him with expectation, as if they think—as if—

Tony strides forward, coming to a stop right in front of Loki, nearly chest-to-chest. He’s at eye level with him in the suit. With his uninjured hand, he cups Loki’s face, the polished metal barely grazing Loki’s skin.

Tony stares searchingly into Loki’s eyes for a brief second, wide and open and impossibly green, and kisses him hard on the mouth.

It’s not delicate or chaste. It’s filled with all the desperation Tony felt wrapped up in those snaking bonds, all the betrayal and fear and hopelessness, and their teeth crash together messily and Tony can taste blood in Loki’s mouth. Something cracks open in his chest, and it burns, right beneath the cool glow of the arc reactor.

Loki is frozen, stock-still against him and cold as ice, and Tony starts to pull back, worried that he’s fucked everything up. The whole thing was on impulse, but it was real, and he can’t pass it off as a joke or—

But then Loki kisses him back, wraps his hands around Tony’s neck and threads his fingers through his hair. And it’s messy and sloppy but Tony can still read the question in it, a tentative plea for forgiveness.

Tony pulls back reluctantly, stares into Loki’s green, green eyes, a smile lighting up his face. A flush has filled Loki’s cheeks and he gives a small smile in return, fragile but genuine.

“Welcome home,” Tony whispers, and leans his forehead forward to touch Loki’s.

The sun pours down from the blazingly blue sky, crisp autumn air ruffling Loki’s hair, his team standing around them, and this—

This is family.

 

***

 

_”Sir.”_

“Oh my god, Jarvis, no,” Tony mumbles. His face is muffled by Loki’s hair, though, so it comes out garbled, a drunken mess of syllables.

“ _Sir, I’m afraid I must insist. There’s a disturbance in the city_.” Jarvis sounds so bitingly patient Tony gets the feeling this isn’t the first time he’s tried to wake him.

Loki raises his head drowsily from where it’s pillowed on Tony’s chest, his jade green eyes half-lidded with sleep. He’s most definitely not a morning person, and Tony loves to see him like this, unguarded and strangely sweet.

He runs a hand through Loki’s hair, the silvered joints working smoothly and silently. Tony built the hand soon after what the public chose to call “the Battle of Liberty” (Fury and Coulson, along with SI, dealt with the PR mess), after his right hand was too damaged to heal. Loki had tried all that he could, as well as the best doctors from around the world, but there was only so much they could do when his hand had literally been burned away by the Tesseract’s energy.

_“Sir,”_ Jarvis says again, this time with a definite note of eyebrow-raising impatience in his voice.

Tony rolls reluctantly out of the warm bed, Loki making a protesting noise behind him. He drops a kiss onto Loki’s forehead in apology before he brutally rips off the covers, the cold air flooding against Loki’s skin.

Loki scowls at him, sitting straight up, pulling the sheets up enough so that they tangle around his legs. His hair is sticking every which way. “For that, I will turn you into a frog. Or perhaps a slug; that species is closer to your intelligence level.”

Tony pulls on the pants of his under armor, hiding the smile on his face. “Well, if I was a slug, you wouldn’t get anymore of my—and I quote—‘marvelous’ blowjobs.” He turns, smirking, and he doesn’t miss the red flush that spreads over Loki’s cheeks.

Loki sniffs haughtily, his face still pink, staring at Tony with a gleam of mischief in his eye. “I’m sure I could find someone better. After all, a slug is really not a suitable partner.”

Tony laughs, pure and free, stopping in front of Loki to kiss him soundly on the lips. He pulls away, grinning.

“Come on, lazybones,” he says, happiness a warm glow in his chest. “We have a city to save.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr!](http://ithusi.tumblr.com)


End file.
